


Scorpion's Star

by Senket



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Slytherin Albus, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 32,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senket/pseuds/Senket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius Antares Malfoy is a mystery to the entirety of Hogwarts- and no one fails to resist a mystery quite like a Potter. Magic, friendship, teenage romance, illness, fortune-telling, music, family... but mostly, Albus and Scorpius, having their own story</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sensationalism

Malfoys had always been gifted with an elusive sort of beauty. Typically, it was shadowed and marred by the marks of sharp dislike in their faces, but when one caught them unawares, faces relaxed, expressions distant, it was hard to remember quite how human they could be.

Scorpius Antares Malfoy had managed to break the chain. It wasn't that he wasn't beautiful. The boy had his father's white-blond hair, pianist's hands and pointed chin, his mother's sharp cheekbones, long neck and perfect porcelain skin. His eyes, though, were all his own, a strange painfully-pale gray that made it hard to tell where he was looking; half the school had thought him blind when he had first appeared. No, it wasn't his beauty that set him apart from his family, but rather his disposition. Where the others had been too human, hateful and terrified and feeling too much, he was mist and light.

He was far more popular than his father had been at Hogwarts; he had his lack of prejudice to thank for that. Draco would've had far more friends if he hadn't been so vocally- well- antiquated Slytherin. However, that wasn't to say Scorpius had friends. Many were interested in his friendship, for there was no one quite as compellingly curious in the castle (aside from the Potter family, because of their father, but those children ran about with the Weasley's, who were many, and were loud and boisterous and no puzzle at all.)

But Albus Severus Potter shared a common room with the boy, and the frequency with which he was starting to wonder about him had grown to a frustrating level, tight in his throat. So, unlike the dozens that followed the ethereal Malfoy from class to class, whispering amongst themselves as they had been for 3 years now, he decided to finally speak to the boy beyond 'might you pass me some crushed armadillo spine' and 'I hear they have albino peacocks at your manor, is it true?.'

It was awkward for him from the beginning. As far as he could remember, no one really had spoken to the boy, or seemed to know anything about him. He had chosen Care of Magical Creatures, and Arithmancy. Originally he had signed up for Divination, a subject Albus took along with Ancient Runes, but at the end of their first lesson, Professor Firenze had given a long look to the boy before quietly telling him that the class would be a waste of his time. Albus had decried the severe statement, and both teacher and student had given him a look that made it clear he had missed something. But other than his choice in extra classes...

Scorpius was standing by a tall window, watching the drift of hazy clouds across a grey-white sky, and Albus moved beside him, loosening the green knot in his tie. "I think it's going to snow, soon." The taller boy did not answer, nor did he move. Time passed in stuttering intervals; they were interrupted only as the Grey Lady drifted past, the Bloody Baron following a minute or so behind. The Potter watched them go before nervously clearing his throat, tightening his hands together. "What're you watching, Scor?"

The was a moment of stillness; pale eyebrows lifted, and he spoke. His voice was not particularly melodious, but it had an odd sort of distance Albus did not know could exist. It was not his inflection, nor the softness of his speech, but a imbued with a peculiar sensation as though here were speaking from a different place. "Scorpius," the boy said. "Or else, Malfoy."

It took the smaller Slytherin a moment before he understood, despite the clarity of the words. "I'm nicknames? We haven't really spoken before, I didn't know. ...look, let me do this right.- Hello, I'm Albus Potter. I work a table over, in potions. I was wondering if you might be interested in being... well friends, Scorpius. I usually see you alone." He wasn't used to trying so hard to speak. Albus was typically the quiet one. James did enough talking for everyone, most days.

"Yes."

The answer perplexed the young Potter. Did he mean that, yes, it was true he didn't like nicknames? Or that they hadn't spoken, or... that indeed, his name was Albus, or that he worked nearby in potions. Perhaps he was interested in friendship, but since he had not stopped watching the sky it seemed unlikely. Maybe that he was always alone?

"...Sorry?"

The boy, finally, turned to face him. Albus was started- he'd seen the Malfoy up close before, of course, they shared a dorm room after all. (Not that Scorpius ever seemed to have noticed that there were other people in the room with him.) But the feeling of seeing Scorpius changed when he was actually looking at you. He no longer had the feeling that they were separated by mountain and valley. No, he was in the same room, the same vacuum-sealed inch, even. Ever-pale eyes stared into him- through him. Scorpius inspected every inch of him; from the curl of his fingers to the sixth freckle across his brow to the crooked tip of his leftmost toe. He felt as though naked, as though Scorpius was not only seeing through his robes but through his skin, through hair and muscle and bones, to the very fragile impossibility of his soul, inspecting every flaw and dream and possibility. Scorpius looked ancient- like a marble statue, smooth and cool under clumsy fingers; like a crystal ball, reflecting everything and knowing all but telling only the precious few; like Poseidon, distant and ever-changing, unfathomable. It took him a moment to realize that Scorpius had stopped unveiling his secrets, and was now staring into his eyes. He gave a start, the memory of everyone whispered 'is he blind?'s sharp in his mind. Even when their eyes were connected, he could barely tell the other boy was looking at me.

When Scorpius opened his mouth to speak again (and Albus thought numbly about how his tongue was distinctively pinker than he would've expected) his voice was now tinged with a heavy and unyielding certainty. "You are not your father."

"What?" He answered quickly, the word slipping out before his brain had caught up.

"Your skills rest in potions."

"...Uh. Yes." It wasn't exactly a secret. He'd returned with that news after his first year and Harry had laughed and told him how he just seemed to have gotten all sorts of things from his second namesake.

"Welcome back," Scorpius Malfoy told him in that voice that sounded once again distant, through a fog- his eyes looking at something else, and Albus felt sick and cold and curious all at once. "You would make Father happy. He regrets."

Albus swallows something slimy, shrinks a little, and doesn't understand anything, except why Firenze asked Scorpius to leave his class. For the first time he can tell when the pale Malfoy is looking at (and not into) him, and stares back defiantly (and feels young), surprised at the crease beneath pale eyes that might almost be a smile in a carved face. "You see," he adds, finally, and Albus bites back the 'a lot less than you, apparently' that is boiling against his gums. He can't figure out how exactly Scorpius is a Slytherin, but it seems that the other houses would hardly be a better fit. (He remembers, quite suddenly, that the Great Hall had been silent for several minutes when Malfoy, Scorpius had donned the aging Hat.)

"We will talk again," Scorpius tells him, and he expects the boy to walk away, because that's what you do when a conversation ends, but he merely turns to look out the window again. Albus hopes, as he leaves, that next time 'talk' might be synonymous with 'communicate,' because the only thing he knows now is that he doesn't know anything at all.


	2. Subtlety

It took weeks before they spoke again. It wasn't that Albus never tried. Quite often, in the dormitory, he would step towards the pale boy; his mouth would open, but his brain would not process: he had no words. He would retreat into the shadow of thick curtains around his bed and work, stealing glances at the figure framed against the mock-window as sickly lake-light drifted in.

He'd had a long and trying day. It seemed something had died in his powdered manticore bones, and his potion had turned a ghastly bubbling gray, thick with the scent of dank caves. Professor Malrun had understood, instructed him to procure some of his neighbor's potion for the second step the next day, but it still weighed heavily on him. Charms hadn't been terribly better, and he'd barely managed to make his partner chuckle when they were trying to Cheer each other, despite the loud and high-pitched bursts of giggles all across the room. He, of only three, received extra practice as homework, and left more downtrodden than before. Stubborn and determined that something would go right today, he half-marched to the Slytherin dorms with a frown, set on speaking to Scorpius.

He barged through the entrance- the door banged against the stone wall, and the sharp sound startled him out of his odd concentration. He stilled, catching his breath, and looked across the room to the other boy. Scorpius bent the corner of his page, sliding a nail across the crease to prefect it, before carefully closing the book and setting it on his lap, turning to look towards the boy.

Albus straightened out, eyes widening a smidgen. Scorpius had never before reacted to his entrance. Perhaps he had chosen a good day? ...No certainly, it was something else, because-

"One can always tell," Scorpius told him softly as the boy puzzled, sweeping a hand through messy black strands, "when another has come to a mind."

Bright eyes squinted and peered through round spectacles at the Malfoy heir, working over the words one at a time. "....You mean," he started- stopped, considered, breathed, straightened out. "You mean that you could tell I was going to talk to you this time. Right?"

Scorpius did not answer. He had no need to. Grey eyes did not waver, firmly fixed somewhere in the proximity of Albus's self. (He never could tell, that one exception aside. He was going to make it his mission to always know where those pale eyes were looking by the end of his Hogwarts education.) "That's a yes, then?" Albus sighed, sinking onto the bed nearest to the window, to Scorpius' position. (The Malfoy's bed, in fact, not that it had anything to do with this choice.) "One day, I will understand your head, Scorpius Malfoy."

Albus was already growing far too used to the half-hinged silence that always hovered between them before Scorpius would answer, and this was only the bare beginnings of their second conversation, if the first could be termed one at all. "Antares," Scorpius corrected at last, and Albus could find absolutely no relation. (He did not, in fact, know the boy's full name and therefore had little chance of recognizing it as the missing element of something Draco Malfoy always called his son when they were being serious.)

He let the silence stretch on, stewing about his terrible luck today. He was starting to think karma had decided to let itself all out. He wasn't paying much attention, indrawn, so he did not notice the crease that formed near the left corner of Scorpius' mouth as he watched the boy. "You have already died for your sins," he told him in that heavy and hollow voice, and Albus half-jumped.

"What kind of a thing to say is that?" he snapped back sharply, scowling. Scorpius did not react much, watching closely. Albus was almost frightened to feel the intense scrutiny of the other boy, but it faded all at once- he took a deep gulp of air before he realized it, never having noticed how shallow his breathing had become, and coughed on the unexpected oxygen. Scorpius was staring at the Slytherin crest carved into the wall behind him with an odd expression.

It was not that Albus could tell what the Malfoy's usual expressions meant, but he knew this one was different at least. Then, with little apparent meaning behind the words, Scorpius looked at him and said (his words sounded so far that Albus was half-suprised he could hear them at all) "the four are your kings."

"...Which four?" Albus hated the way his voice wavered uncertainly. He felt it especially in present company; it seems Scorpius had never encountered a doubt in his life, and with the way he spoke the Potter felt like he was centuries old. That or completely cracked, but the heavy knowledge in his words made that somehow unlikely.

Scorpius watched him without moving, hands like fallen petals, still on the worn leather of his book. Albus wished so hard and deeply that he would get a straight answer (for once) that Scorpius did something of someone else's chosing, incredibly.

"Albus," He said first, solemnly. Before the young boy could assume he was being fooled (or called a king, either, though he could hardly be his own king), he continued. "Severus," he said next, with severity. Then: "Potter." Last, instead of saying anything, he reached towards the boy. Albus jerked a few millimeters backwards, flushing at his unintentional reaction, and followed the line of Scorpius' pointed index to the Slytherin badge on his uniform.

Albus blinked, stared, frowned. Scorpius retracted his finger and shifted in his seat so that his left side leaned against the cold stone wall, reopening his book without a sound. Albus opened his mouth, wanting one more clue, but before words could form, Scorpius answered. "You are the kingdom."

His jaw snapped closed, and he shot the other boy an exasperated look before scooting off to his own bed.


	3. Strangers

Albus was stealthily following the edge of the Lake, moving slowly in the low evening light. Everyone aught to be at dinner right now, but he'd found himself oddly lacking appetite after his fight with Rose. She seemed that he wasn't studying for the coming term finals enough, and what was worse couldn't decide whether she wanted to ignore his very existence or badger him endlessly into reviewing notes. The Slytherin Common Room was not safe for him- everyone in his year seemed to be taking turns imitating his bushy-haired cousin, laughing uproariously at his irritation. He wished he had his father's Invisibility cloak, but that item had passed on to James. He received the Marauder's Map, instead, an ever-useful gift, but for this he wished they could trade. He couldn't very well borrow the cape, though, the issue with being in a different house than the rest of the family.

The lanky teenager brushed messy strands back, wrinkling his nose when they immediately fell back into place. Bright eyes drifted across the expansive, empty grounds. Somewhere to hide... He could always hide in the shrieking shack, but he didn't doubt James would be alone with Freddie at any time to plot someone's wet, stinky demise in the abandoned house. (He thought their pranks to be fairly crude and unimaginative, really. Uncle George was far better at them. Anyway, Albus was of the first opinion that if most Slytherins decided to be stupid rather than cruel in their 'teasing,' they would come up with some fantastical stuff. You needed to be imaginative to end up in the dungeons.)

Green locked on a form drifting halfway across the grounds, near the forest. For a second he thought it was perhaps Hagrid, but no. The form was much too small, probably not all that much taller than Albus himself, thin, straight. Moonlight gleamed on white, and he squinted, moving more quickly towards the other student. Not many people had hair as pale as that- his quarter-Veela cousins, certainly, but Victoire had graduated two years ago and Margerite was far too much of a Ravenclaw to be moving towards the Forbidden Forest while she was expected at dinner. Could it be Scorpius?

He hurried to catch up, careful to be as quite as possible. It irked him to know he was not nearly as silent as he hoped to be, but if the Malfoy heir noticed then he did not seem to care. The rhythm of his steps did not waver; hardly surprising, really, they never seemed to. Scorpius moved with purpose, always. He did not tuck locks of hair behind his ear, did not straighten his sleeves, did not tap his quill against his desk when they took notes. In fact, Scorpius' typical stillness was one of the many odd things about him.

Nothing quite as odd as passing into the Forest at this time, focused and unperturbed, however. Albus squinted and hurried after him, hiding behind trees, green eyes practically glowing in the bare light. They passed an old car- he smiled at the thought, and remembered Uncle Ron. Grandmother Molly had shown him the clippings one day, quite hidden from her son, and with a wink told Albus to be sure and never mention it to his uncle. He looked back to Scorpius and, flushing as he noticed he had started to fall behind, rushed to get back to his even distance again. Playing spy was always fun, but it felt odd following someone with real secrets. (Or at least real mystery.)

All at once, the other boy stopped, looking as though waiting. Albus was so busy was Scorpius' back, curious as to the sudden change. that it took him a few moments to realize the usual sounds were being eclipsed by that of crunching leaves and branches, as though a great group were moving steadily towards them. Gaze darting about, he saw a form detach from the darkness- it grew six great limbs and a stern face, and Albus found himself gazing up in awe at a great Centaur. It was larger than Firenze, and wilder-looking, shoulders thick and broad, fur gleaming healthily. Others emerged from behind him. Albus stifled a surprised squeak when he realized, looking above them, shapes lined against the faded moonlight, that they were surrounded. He turned back to watch the first centaur as it took a step towards Scorpius, inspecting the boy with a appraising frown, his back left leg kicking at the ground.

Scorpius stared back, unashamed and unflinching- it seemed he was barely aware of the others, watching Bane unperturbed, eyes cool and (as always) seemingly unfocused. Both man and boy looked up at once, when the moon hung thick and yellowing in the sky, a waning quarter shinning down in sliced ribbons- casting across Scorpius' pale cheek and slanted over the bright green and silver of his tie, but never touching his legs, the Malfoy looked more like an apparition than ever.

"What is it you want?" Bane asked finally, his voice sharp and sudden in the darkness. The silence that stretched after his words was stilted, stifling, and Albus felt himself shrinking, an odd nugget of fear lodged in his gut.

"Saturn does not tell an important tale."

The centaur looked sharply at the boy, but Scorpius did not seem to have noticed, pale gray fixed still on the moon. "Do not think you can tell me how to look to the skies, boy. You may know- you are better than those they call Seers, I don't doubt- idiot humans, who think themselves each so special. But we centaurs know how to look, how to read. We are not so... deluded." His speech, by the end, was thick with dislike, a deep snarl in his voice.

Scorpius looked to him finally, and his eyes were oddly greened in the yellow light. "Then do not look to Saturn. It is hidden there, in your skies."

Bane reared, forward legs kicking wildly. A chestnut behind him tightened the string of his bow, though he did not raise it. "Leave," he growled.

The Slytherin regarded him for a moment longer before turning, walking in those same measured steps back the way they came. Albus watched him pass his hiding spot, holding his breath, not sure how he would escape the herd all about him- but Scorpius stopped only a few steps past the tree, completely still. He had that expression again, where he was waiting, and Albus swallowed nervously.

"Leave," Bane repeated in a sharp, booming voice. "I shall not warn you again." But Scorpius seemed not to have heard him. Albus watched nervously for a few moments, bitting his lip, and then all at once... He could've kicked himself. For all looks told, Scorpius never noticed anything, but if he was to know anything about the Malfoy by now it was that he knew too much. He shook out dark hair and sprinted to the other boy, flushed with faint embarrassment, and grasped his sleeve. Scorpius did not acknowledge him directly, but started to walk back to the castle. Casting a nervous glance over his shoulder, he watched the Centaur narrow his eyes at the Harry Potter look-alike before turning to vanish back into the woods.


	4. Serenity

Following people into accidental danger seemed to make one like them, and despite the fact that Scorpius had apparently been in no danger at all that odd night, the very fact that the blond had waited for Albus despite his skulking around, surrounded by tense centaurs, endeared the other third year to him. It wasn't that he could claim they were the best of friends. He still didn't know much of anything about the boy that he hadn't already known.

Scorpius was a perfect student. He behaved in an exemplary fashion at all times, though he was particularly quiet and therefore unlikely to answer any questions. (He, in fact, moved only when necessary, and his unnatural stillness, while putting him in several teacher's good books, creeped a good number of the other children out.) He did not seem to know how to communicate his mind, but Albus expected that it was rather because he felt no need. Scorpius read tremendous amounts, books with no particular significance to each other but most often nonfiction. He seemed to get on phenomenally with creatures, magical or otherwise, despite the fact that he had never taken any class on the subject. Leaving his own Care for Magical Creatures class, he had been surprised to find the boy holding out a sugar cube for the golden unicorn foal tethered nearby for an older class's lesson. He'd never seen Scorpius look so particularly human than in that moment.

He had begun spending more and more time in the other's company. He sat beside him during lessons, which had earned him a good deal of whispering behind hands, sat nearby during meals (though Scorpius had the habit of staring at the enchanted ceiling, tracking clouds, without every paying attention to what was entering his mouth. Despite this, he never seemed to make any sort of mess at all), studied and did homework with him, glancing at the other boy's notes every so often.

Scorpius never seemed to feel any particular way about the whole thing: at least, not outwardly. One day, though, a tired and irritated Albus had, while reviewing for a test in a rush, accidentally torn his book asunder and, without looking up, Scorpius had flicked his wand to fix it; Albus had grinned brightly and been in an astoundingly good mood the rest of the night. (He had passed, but with fairly mediocre marks, but he hadn't cared.)

However, meal times, classes and evenings aside, the graceful Malfoy always seemed to vanish from sight. Albus had searched for him on the Marauder's Map on several occasions but in vain; he seemed to have disappeared from the castle altogether. His curiosity grew more by the day, but if he asked Scorpius about it he always received the same answer: "Seek, and ye shall find."

"Well I AM seeking, but nothing's turned up yet!" He would always grumble back, but Scorpius would never respond.

It was not until May that he finally discovered the secret in a place he should have thought to look. He'd been wandering corridors listlessly, thinking of Scorpius, and in thrice passing a blank wall, heard the drawn-out sound of rock drawing against rock. When he turned a fully-formed door had sprung into sight. He cursed himself for his stupidity: his father, mother, Uncle Ron and occasionally even Aunt Hermione and Uncle George (upon nearly any visit from Professor Longbottom or Miss Luna Lovegood) would tell them all about the Room of Requirement and their 'wild' days as Dumbledore's Army. They were some of James' favorite stories; Albus must've heard them hundreds of times.

He pushed the door open hesitantly, not quite sure what he would find. It could turn into anything, and he had been looking for Scorpius Malfoy; for all he knew he might be walking into a room of marble statues and ancient puzzle books. He was surprised instead to be greeted by the light sound of vibrating strings. He edged inside to find a large, high-ceilinged room filled with smatterings of sunlight through tall french windows. There was a great black piano in one corner, on a raised stage drapped with red velvet. The wall across it was graced with lines of instuments; a great Double Bass, made of gleaming oak, a dark cello, let with handsome vertical lines, a red-stained viola, decorated with the finest twists of gold, a fragile violin, tiny leaves carved into the scroll. In line followed glistening brass and dark, handsome woodwinds. Just off center of the room's center, Scorpius was seated at an elaborate harp, silver and white ash, long strings trembling beneath his fingers.

Albus held his breath, afraid of breaking the purity of sound, but it seemed that any of his own movements were stifled by the soft music. There was something odd about it though- for all the technical skill Scorpius was playing with, flawless notes and a profound nuance of touch, absolutely no emotion seemed to affect the piece. The Malfoy played it to his inevitable conclusion, showing neither surprise nor care at Albus' presence (not that this was in any way unusual), lifting his hands just above the strings before his hands moved to his lap. He stared at the instrument, seemingly far into his own mind, before pale gray turned to look at the boy still hovering in the open door.

Albus, spell broken, hurriedly closed it behind him, but otherwise did not move away from the wall. Scorpius did not move, unerring eyes fixed on the nervous Potter. Eventually Albus seemed to realize what it meant and came closer. Just as he was about to reach the instrument, Scorpius lifted from his seat in one movement, turning to face it and Albus.

"Do you mean me to play it?" he asked in a tiny voice, bright green darting between Scorpius and the smattering of strings worriedly. Scorpius made no motion to answer, but his persistent stare eventually moved Albus into the chair. He tried to pull it towards him but did not know how- he felt clumsy and uncomfortable. The boy reached out, plucked a string. The instrument sang a clear, sharp note. Albus smiled nervously and plucked a few more, and winced at the sharp dissonance between them, hands instantly returning to his lap, clasped together tightly.

Scorpius, whose gaze had turned to watch the harp, turned to Albus again, and spoke, softly but belonging to the room- "Play."

"But I don't know how! It's terrible, didn't you just hear..? I mean... I don't..."

"Play," Scorpius repeated, without a change in inflection. Albus squinted up at the taller boy from behind wide glasses, before sighing. Scorpius was stubborn in the oddest things. He stared at the harp before him, frowning faintly as he inspected it. He shifted forward in his seat, pressing his palms against the string. They seemed to shiver beneath his touch, ready for anything- so he tried.

It was not spectacular in any way, nor even mildly pleasant. He played whatever felt right, but having no idea how, the notes were often random, a good portion not seeming to be part of the right scale at all. His tempo rose and fell awkwardly. Sometimes he stopped altogether, turning to look at Scorpius, features set in an expression that communicated his want to stop quite well, but the blond never took his eyes off the harp and so he would keep playing for a while more. When he stopped again it seemed more because his little experiment was done rather than his unwillingness to further embarrass himself.

He found that Scorpius was now looking at him, eyes lacking their usual indistinctness. Albus practically jumped out of his seat, and Scorpius replaced him and began to play again. Albus guessed it was just another piece, but after a few moments came to realize it had a remarkable similarity to his mess of a piece a minute ago. The tempo did not rise and fall because of a nervousness of touch, but was marked by the motion of the notes. The rhythms blended together seamlessly, coupled with that orchestration of speed. The notes now matched, and had a pleasant, vibrant quality. He found surprised that the randomness of his own playing seemed to fit so well in this. Scorpius had taken into consideration every emotion and every measure with a remarkable aptitude, and merged all of Albus' fumbling into a true piece. He found, with surprise, that unlike the first concertina he had heard upon entering the room, this was filled with emotion- the first movement was clear and bright, the next slipping into a minor, shy and stuttering; the next was like the blooming of a child into adolescence, losing its uncertain quality for a quicker, powerful tune. The last seemed full and deep, and Albus found an odd resonance in his chest at the sound of it.

Just short of the ending, however, Scorpius' fingers seemed to have come to a dead stop. He stared at the instrument with a sort of vague confusing, frown causing a crinkling line between his brows. When pale eyes turned to Albus, he reached around the boy. He plucked with his index and middle finger, before plucking a closer string with his thumb- in this fashion he moved diagonally down towards himself, and upon reaching the last quarter of the instrument, ran his nails back up the way his fingers had come. An odd expression of relief seemed to cross Scorpius' face and he repeated the motion in key, the faintest lines of a smile below his eyes and at the hidden corner of his mouth. He let the chord ring in the air until it faded before moving again.

Scorpius strode to a desk Albus had not noticed until them. It seemed to have nothing particularly special about it, but upon closer inspection, Albus noticed a trembling quill blot itself against a sheet and lay across the wood before a scroll. Across it were emblazoned the words 'Albus Severus Potter, Slytherin' in an ornate gold script. Scorpius picked it up between pale fingers, handling it with careful reverence, before passing it on to its namesake. Surprised but fascinated, Albus pulled it open to see the first line; they were musical notes, written in a small hand- he could not read its meaning, but he had no doubt this was the song that Scorpius had just created.

He flushed, and held it out to his friend. "That's cool. Here, it's yours though."

Scorpius gave him such a look that Albus could feel the burn creeping up his neck and ears. "I'm serious." He jabbed it at the blond. "You wrote it."

"No," he answered, and Albus was profoundly surprised at the quick response. "The essence does not belong to its translator."

He was sure he was bright red now, because he had understood, so it held it craddled against his chest. It just felt a shame that he had nothing to do with it: he could not play it, and the only person he felt comfortable sharing it with was Scorpius. Scorpius, who not only understood but helped Albus understand himself. Where could he put it? He feared keeping it with him, that it would be destroyed by a broken ink bottle. It felt a tragedy to leave it in his trunk...

While he thought long and hard about it, a glass case materialized above the long lines of instruments, gleaming in the light of the windows. He turned to it, flushed as he noticed more scrolls- "The Malfoy Dragon, Blind," scripted in silver and "Fragments of a Star," a milky white. He glanced at Scorpius, but the boy was facing the door now, waiting. He would ask another time, Albus decided as he hurried to place it with its predecessors.

They left together, and he turned to watch the door fade from sight.


	5. Separation

The train ride back home was not particularly different from any other year's. Albus did stop by Scorpius' compartment once, but was soon pulled away by Lily. He sat with his family until the cart of goods came around, and then darted off to some of his Slytherin friends to play a version of Wizard's Chess that involved building a house with a deck of Exploding Snap cards while you waited for your opponent to play. Oh course, you couldn't avoid playing forever in the hopes that your opponent's constant handling of the cards would make them explode more often, because if your own house happened to ignite while it was still your turn, you had to forfeit a piece.

It kept them all quite entertained, and he was pleasantly surprised when they arrived at the station. In the messy bustle of packing, dressing appropriately and finding family amongst the flocks of other students doing the same, Albus did not see Scorpius again. He thought of it only vaguely, feeling that it was unfortunate but not necessarily bad. He'd already resolved to write to the Malfoy once a week, even if he didn't expect much in the way of replies. Scorpius was perfect at keeping secrets, so he could really write about whatever he wanted without worry of others- nor judgment, for it seemed that, of all things, Scorpius was incapable of letting small things get in the way of a person's overall essence, and it seemed the blond had decided from the very fore that Albus had a good one.

The beginning of summer went much as he had expected it to. He send a letter once a week (more or less,) and didn't get much of a reply, though his great Eagle owl would always return in a cheery mood, occasionally with an extra sweet that (according to James, though who knew with that boy) was supposedly made by the Malfoy boy's mother. James, of course, recommended that he not eat it, as it was 'probably poisoned.' Albus ignored him, as always, and whenever his brother got TOO annoying, he'd report to their father what was said and sit nearby reading while James got a long and droning lecture about how all houses were equal and the Malfoy's had long reformed and 'anyway, stop being such a prat, James!' which always made Albus grin.

Towards the middle of July Harry Potter got a very interesting letter; Albus was not quite sure what it was about, but watching his expression change seven times (ranging between three different colors) and hurriedly call out to Ginevra, it was certainly quite the news. He shared it with his children the next day after he'd gone to talk to several people: it turned out that a friend of Harry's grandfather, who none of them knew much about, had willed to the Potter family a cabin that the pair of them had built together in the mid fifties. The man's will had been lost for quite some time, finally discovered by one of his greatnephews; it had been quite cleverly hidden, with a line of obscure clues that led to a small vault in that country's Wizarding Bank. (And if anyone knew anything of Gringott's reputation, and that of the Swiss Muggle banks, that 'anyone' had to consider how monstrously impossible it would be to steal from the Wizarding Bank of Switzerland- or even to open your own vault, sometimes.) It so turned out that the man had had many relatives, and not wanting them to fight it all out, had bequeathed his entire estate to the one clear-minded and clever enough to follow his trail to that tiny box which contained his will- except for this one house, which by line fell to Harry, the only living adult descendant of the Potter line. Without preamble, it was decided they would spend the two middle weeks of August in their new cabin high in the Alps.

Albus, of course, sent a long and rambling letter to Scorpius about his excitement, his curiosity, everything he'd heard about Switzerland, the alps, curious which language would be spoken in this little village high in the mountains, what the people would be like... How, indeed, they were expecting to communicate. He was surprised to receive, along with a now-customary sweet that tasted of lemoned custard, a thick traveler's volume about the small, isolated country. He looked over the fold-out map eagerly, grinning when he noticed that their vacation-house's approximate location had been marked for him. A page had been dogeared for him, and though it did not speak of S-Chanf, the village their house belonged to, there was a detailed paragraph on a sort of resort-town (St. Moritz) a very short drive away that had been famous for its ski resort for decades; a hot-spot for European nobility and higher-class travelers for over a century, as it were. It excited him, though he knew that August was undoubtedly not the season for skiing, nor tourism.

As a side note, Albus had spoken so much and so quickly about Scorpius and the cabin that Harry and Ginny both showed up at the Malfoy estate, asking Draco whether his son might join them as a surprise to their second child. Draco turned them away, not of his own choice but rather because Scorpius, when asked, had declined. They didn't bring it up, because they thought it might upset Albus- a silly idea, because unlike his parents Albus would've had a better chance at guessing his motives. As it so happened, Scorpius (without sharing as such) missed his parents vastly during the year and was quite content to spend all of summer in their company (though Draco worked at the ministry) and hardly wanted for a vacation that involved an overenthusiastic, thick-skulled James Potter and an matchedly inquisitive Lily. (There were other reasons, but Albus would have had no chance to guess at those.)

Upon first entering the cabin, though, Albus was deeply surprised at how much he wished that Scorpius was with him in that moment. It was nice to be there with family, of course, but there was nothing quite like a friend with whom to share a beautiful, treasure-filled place.


	6. Scripts

_Dear Scorpius (or else, Malfoy)_

_You wouldn't believe it here. Or, rather, I'm sure you would, but I didn't. Not for a while, at least. This place is beyond amazing. We had to get here by apparating in the bathroom of the train station (Lily and I had a little help, obviously) precisely at the time of arrival, so that nobody would be walking in or out, and it wouldn't be too suspicious when, a few minutes later, we all slid out with luggage. Dad says it was that or by car, and that would've taken a while. It's such a small town someone would've been bound to notice- or so he said. It is a pretty small place, and there are some corners so tight we would've had trouble with the car for sure. There's a stretch of road, not very long, with only a house or two beside it, and then another group, twice as large as ours. Dad says its another village altogether, but it seems a bit ridiculous to me. Each group has it's own church, though, so I guess he's right._

_The bells of every village always ring precisely at the same time- I'd heard the Swiss were insane with their clocks, but I always figured it was just exaggeration. After all, we English are supposed to be pretty accurate, and if we're comparing against the French and the Italians.... well. In any case, the house is up the hill. We can see the entire place from here. There's a coat of arms on the wall, and the date '1955.' A lot of houses have dates on them, really. The earliest I've noticed so far was 1307- and it had three more, 1555, 1664, and one in 2007- apparently those are restoration dates. One of them is entirely uncoated stone with large boardedup arches. They look like they aught to be windows but never were- I don't quite understand it myself. There's a bright red passenger train every half-hour or so. It reminds me of the Express, but it's not steam-powered. I don't imagine it has been for quite a while._

_The inside of the house is fantastic though. There are three stories, and it's filled with things. I guess my greatgrandfather and his friend were collectors; there's no other explanation, really. Everything here needs a key- every door, practically every drawer of every cupboard- anyway, it's insane. There are a pair of old halberds hanging by the staircase, and a mace and chain- one of the closets has an old military uniform. Dad says that, in Switzerland, every man is part of the army. I don't know what they'd do, though, seeing as they're never at war as a rule. Who, in their right mind, would want to attack a country that's hiding half of your gold for you, anyway? There are a pair of single-barrel shotguns in my room, hanging over the closets. There are hunting-decoy ducks, a cracked hunting horn and a waterskin, and two sets of sleigh bells- there's a cow branding iron downstairs, and a yoke. I think there was a harness somewhere; there's a yoke in the basement, a branding iron, and two huge cow bells with collars. Speaking of cows, they're gigantic up here. I don't know if it's because they get a ton of exercise, or they live up here, or because of the grass (it's so GREEN, by the way) but they're really something. Lazy, though, as cows tend to be. The village doesn't seem to have any cows; apparently they're all in higher altitudes, eating the grass up there, as it's quiet fresh right now and bound to be covered in frost and snow again soon. The neighbor has a small flock of sheep, though. They start meandering about around 6, and then when the sunlight hits them they all seem to wake up at once. Of course they're always moving to the same place together. Sort of ridiculous, but I suppose the expression had to come from somewhere._

_The house, along with being filled to brim with some old things no one uses anymore (there's a spinning wheel with a tail of hair, and James has already made a thousand jokes to Lily about Sleeping Beauty- personally I think she likes it) has a good stock of winter coats and old skiing equipment. There's a little door between the kitchen and the dining room for passing food through, it's really cool. There are four bedrooms upstairs, and three washrooms. One of them has a bath and two sinks for some reason, AND both a bowl and a urinal, very strange- one has a shower, and the other is a tiny basic room. The small one's attached to the smallest bedroom. James took that one in a second: something about Lily and having the chance to go in the morning without being yelled at every five seconds. Lily took the bedroom that connects to the bathroom. She kept the door that led to the hallway locked for a day before mum made her open it. There was a wide bed, but upon closer inspection it turned out that they were just two separate beds pressed together. Mum and dad's room is the same, but with more closet space and no bathroom. They've been sharing with me. Ours has a heatlamp to dry off after a shower, but it doesn't heat up very fast. It feels nice though. My room's between theirs. It's quite wide- there are two separate beds, so if you ever decide to come up there's plenty of room. (I found out there are actually more beds under each bed, with folded legs. I don't know why you'd need so many, but I guess if Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione ever come with Rose and Hugo there'll be room.)_

_We went to a lake nearby the other day, to a little alcove. The water's an odd blue-white color here. I think it's because of the glaciers, but I don't know for sure. The water wasn't supercold, but it was still a bit of a shock going in. There was another family nearby, and their two daughters were swimming topless (I'm pretty sure they were French) so James made a complete fool of himself, being even louder than usual. I thought he was being a bit of an idiot, as always, but they seem to enjoy it. There were some ducks, too- sleek, black, with white beaks. I bet you know what they're called. I tried to throw them bread but they ignored me. There were a surprisingly small amount of flowers. Mum says we should come back in May, because the season up here is really short, so they bloom as fast as possible. I guess I don't blame them, it's already quite cold at night. The fog clings to the ground in the morning like nothing else, but the second an area is hit with the sun it just melts away. It makes some pretty pockets, considering the way sun falls in the mountains, but it still reminds me of looking out the window back home. It's really nice here, but it feels silly to only see it with family somehow. I'm sure you'd disagree. It is pretty though, and quiet. I think you'd like it. I probably won't send another owl until I get back._

_Wishing you were here,  
Albus Severus Potter, Slytherin._

Three weeks later, the boy was surprised to find a snow-white owl tapping at his bedroom window. It refused any of the food he offered it, sticking out it's leg impatiently. There he found a small bearskin pouch: inside it was a silver scorpion, feet intersecting together at precisely the circumference of his left thumb, with eyes like stars.


	7. Sunned

By the time the Potter family returned from the Alps, they had each spent at least a day cooped up in their room with the covers drawn from monstrous headaches caused by sunstroke or something similar- outside without even having the forethought to shade their eyes, too busy running about looking for ruins and hidden streams and spotting horses and cows and sheep to care. When Albus appeared at King's Cross on September the 1st, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose were dotted with the Weasley freckles he had so rarely displayed before, skin several shades darker all over. He looked quite healthy, and his smile had changed in quality slightly, no doubt due to the changes adolescence were bringing, though one might suppose girls glancing at him, grinning, and whispering to each other in Romansch might have also affected him.

He certainly looked a great deal more comfortable with himself, anyway, and bore himself straighter than he had the year before. A Ravenclaw of his year took no time in noticing either, and his smile turned a bit cheeky as she whispered quickly to the girl beside her. James seemed to notice too, and he laughed heartily, ruffling his little brother's hair before running off to talk Quiddich with a fellow beater (no doubt intending the discuss the possibilities of the new team, now that their old captain was gone) pausing only to kiss his mother goodbye.

Albus found himself a compartment first, perching an empty owl cage on his seat before moving out to look for some of his own friends. He ran into a few of his cousins first, but moved on quickly. It wasn't that he didn't love them, but they'd spent most of the last week together. He ran into that Ravenclaw again, grinned dashingly instead of greeting her when he couldn't remember her name, and laughed to himself when she turned a bright pink. Further down he ran into the Slytherin Quiddich team, talking quickly about needing a replacement keeper. He slid off the train again, watching for students just arriving. His eyes fell on a head of pale, almost silver hair and he instinctively ran the edge of his index finger against a row of silver anthropoid legs, quickening his steps. He paused when Scorpius and his family came into full view, watching the interaction with faint curiosity.

Scorpius' face was as blank as always except for the sharpness of his eyes as he watched his mother. Albus could not hear what she was saying. Her hands fluttered about her son, touching his shoulders and smoothing out his tie (Scorpius was already in school robes), her face expressive, smile tender and sweet. Bright blue eyes focused only on the boy before her, and it seemed as though she was repeating herself- probably like any mother, with "Oh, you will write often, won't you?"s and "if you ever need anything, anything at all, just be sure to ask"s. She kissed her son on both cheeks twice, and hugged him tightly before moving over so that his father could talk to him.

Draco was much quicker about it, though the same expression reflected in his eyes. (His smile was more subdued, but a Malfoy was a Malfoy through and through, and for life, so perhaps it should be surprising that a smile was discernible at all.) There was no question in the amount of pride the man seemed to have for Scorpius, though, and despite the fact that there might be possible onlookers, Draco leaned forward to wrap one arm around Scorpius' shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of his head. His mother grabbed his hands tightly, whispering some final words to the boy as Draco slid his hat and jacket back on. Scorpius watched them both walk through the barrier quietly- and this is where Albus discovered the most interesting thing. Despite the amount of attention and expressiveness they had been showing towards their son, the moment the two began to walk with one another an unnatural amount of distance sprung up between them, as though they were merely acquaintances, and barely that. Scorpius' gaze sidled back into 'vague' when they disappeared from sight, and Albus strode over.

He was disappointed to find that, despite the fact that he had grown a good few centimeters, Scorpius was still far taller than he. He had, in fact, seemed to spring up a good fifteen or twenty centimeters himself during the summer, which Albus thought was entirely ridiculous. His hair was a bit longer, too, and Albus was surprised to find a faint hint of wave in it. His face had elongated, most of the baby fat that had once been in his cheeks vanished. "Scorpius," he greeted, cheerful, "have a good summer? Come on, I've got a compartment."

Scorpius did not answer- Albus hadn't expected him to, anyway- gathering his things to follow Albus. The Potter grabbed his friend's owl, peering through the bars into big yellow eyes. "Hello, you." It hooted at him indignantly and ruffled it's great white wings before turning away. As he helped Scorpius get his trunk into the luggage rack, Albus allowed his curiosity out.

"Your parents didn't look too awfully friendly with each other when they left, Scorpius. Something wrong with the family?"

The Malfoy regarded him for a long while, and Albus was sure that if he'd worded it that way to the boy's father he would've had an explosion on his hands. Luckily this was Scorpius, and he had nothing to worry about; he knew when to be careful, and he nearly never had to be with this boy. Scorpius was nothing if not understanding. (Except perhaps 'intelligent' and 'possibly the least clear-spoken person that has ever existed.')

"My mother and father belong to me, and I to them," he answered finally, smooth and soft and edgeless as always, "but neither belongs to the other."

"Gotcha," Albus responded, grinning- and in fact he was fairly sure he had; Scorpius could be far more cryptic. Maybe he was going easy on him. (The thought made Albus laugh.) "But while we're here, do you think you could go over the summer assignments with me?"


	8. Snow

The shy Ravenclaw with the pretty, pink blush seemed to turn up in the oddest places, and soon he was convinced she had gotten his schedule off some other Slytherins somehow. Poor thing, practically swooning around corners, but she was fairly attractive and he was willing to bet she would do her best never to get on his nerves, and take anything he said quite seriously- expect, he hoped, those things that she should.

He learned her name from someone who tended to make everyone else's business her own: his cousin Rose, who whispered to him very quickly that it was Amaranth Davies, whose father came for Hogwarts and had been a Quiddich Captain in his time, and whose mother came from Durmstrang, and had pretty dark hair and sharp black eyes. It was already far more information than he wanted to know but Rose tended to ramble on once she got started.

So he asked this Amaranth to stray about with him on their first Hogsmeade excursion of the year and, flushed darkly, she accepted in a squeaky little voice and smiled nervously when he started laughing goodnaturedly. For a little effect (or a bit of added cruelty in seeing if her blush could match the strength of the Weasley's, and he wasn't even sure himself) he leaned forward and kissed her cheek before throwing out a 'see you later then!' and striding off down the corridor.

Scorpius did not react any differently to him before or after he'd asked the girl out, nor had he expected the boy to, nor was there any reason for him to. Albus started spending his lunches and his times between class with her, or her friends, or his family, or his other friends. Meals without Albus didn't change anything for Scorpius really, since he had the habit of spending the entire time staring at the bewitched ceiling as though observing patterns and writings that no one else could see (Albus had no doubt as to the truth of this.) In fact, most anyone that had seen him at it wondered if he ever had any idea what he was putting into his mouth, and how he managed to never drop even a single crumb.

After dinner was always reserved for the boy though, even if all they did was study. Albus had gotten into the habit of tracing his fingers along his ring whenever his left had was idle and he was concentrating- which was quite often, and he was surprised the details weren't wearing down, but he supposed it was probably goblin-made. It was better than biting his nails, which he was happy to say he had stopped doing, seemingly all at once and with no effort. Now if only Lily could do the same, but he was certainly not going to pay for goblins to make her a ring just for that.

Albus wondered over the harp, and Scorpius' fingers, which never seemed particularly calloused somehow, though he was sure they must be. He hadn't really touched them- he didn't really touch Scorpius at all, and despite the fact that he was proudly sure that the Malfoy would call him 'friend,' it seemed sacrilege to touch him directly somehow- reserved for his parents. It was an assumption, of course, perhaps a silly one, the same as everyone else's assumption that the blond was completely unapproachable (and neither of which were completely incorrect) but until Scorpius gave a sign he'd leave it as such. It wasn't too bad, really; James was the touchy Potter, and Albus was a Slytherin. It would've been odd to horseplay with the distant Malfoy.

Hogsmeade arrived soon enough, and despite the fact that it was barely November the snow was already up to the edge of his boots. Amaranth hadn't worn shoes quite as sensible as she thought she had, and though nothing was getting in she found them absorbing water fairly quickly. Ever the gentleman- or so he claimed, though most had their (reasonable) doubts, Albus took her to the town on piggyback, where the crushed snow was much harder to sink into and therefore stayed beneath her rubber sole. By the time he put her down the damage had already been done: she was flushed and giggled uncontrollably. They went into Honeydukes, and she dragged him to Madame Puddifoots, which he found immensely frilly and somewhat awkward across from a girl that stared at her cup more than anything when at least three pairs of older students where kissing in corners at any point. He was fourteen, and though he'd tried kissing, the thought of snogging in public still made him a bit squeamish. But he tried holding her hand, and she seemed to enjoy it quite enough, and if he had gone any further he wasn't sure he could've avoided her head bursting into flames. They stopped by the Hogsmeade branch of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and was pleased to note that the attendant seemed to know to give him everything at half-price (Amaranth seemed quite astounded by it, until he explained that the owner was his uncle, and at that she seemed entirely too wowed considering how obvious it all should've been, but not everyone could know his mother, though he would've assumed she'd known from Rose or something. Besides, Ginevra Weasley HAD once been very close to captainhood before she had quit the Holyhead Harpies). They separated at the Three Broomsticks, where he rejoined James (who wasted absolutely no time in teasing him), Freddie and Rose and had a mug of Butterbeer before wandering off on his own, wondering if Scorpius might be anywhere about.

The Malfoy had never gone to Hogsmeade last year, something that he found profoundly curious because he was certain his father would give him permission for nearly anything; and if he didn't, his mother certainly would have instead. That morning, however, he had found the boy gathering to him a thick, snow-white coat and a long scarf the color of tarnished silver and that moved like water. When he made a joke about Scorpius vanishing against the snow and terrifying people at the Shrieking Shack by playing ghost and lobing snow at them, the boy regarded him with a long and pensive expression before resuming his search for a pair of gloves.

And so Albus checked there first, and completely lacked any sense of surprise when he found his friend staring at the old building. He stood beside him and stared up; he already knew the story of the supposedly haunted shack, since he had been nearby when his father had told Teddy Lupin about it, but it was hardly a commonly-known tale. He munched on some caramelized popcorn, mostly ignoring the way the Colorshifting Carnival Corn was affecting his eyes, though he delighted in the way it made Scorpius' scarf turn a vivid and unbeatable shade of eyecatching magenta against the cornflower blue of snow and coat.

"No ghosts."

"Yeah, people've noticed. Quiet over fifty years now, although half the townsfolk still won't go near it."

"No," he answered eventually, eyes a painful shade of cruel-looking vermilion; Albus looked away quickly and tucked the candy away. He didn't like it much, suddenly. "There never were ghosts." He seemed perplexed, and Albus was suddenly reminded that, despite his behavior, and his apt ability with reading the skies and into the murkiest of things, he could not really see the future, nor the past. It was hard to remember, sometimes- most times, really.

But he smiled, and felt quite happy to be able to help Scorpius with something that was bothering him, for once. "Yeah. I know. There's a passage under the old Whomping Willow that leads here. Once upon a time, before the Wolfsbane potion, there was a student at Hogwarts who used to hide in here during the full moon. Since there was nowhere for him to escape, and no one to attack, he'd scratch and bite himself, and throw himself against walls, and howl in agony. So- they figured it was haunted. I imagine it was bought, boarded up and tunneled under for him specially, but I don't really know more than that."

Sometime during his explanation, Scorpius had turned his gaze to Albus (though Albus did not glance back until he was certain the effect of the candied corn had disappeared), but now he turned back to the house, observing it with a measuring gaze. Scorpius stood, in the snow, staring at the desolate building for at least another quarter hour. Albus, bored, had dropped to the ground, built up a snowman, and a castle wall around it, and resisted the urge to charm the clumsy, crumbling flag to wave.

When Scorpius edged beside him to right the leaning snowman, Albus gave a start, and had to shade his eyes from the afternoon sun as he looked up at the figure in white. "Ready to go?" Scorpius merely straightened, pulling his scarf more tightly about his neck, mouth and nose, before walking back towards Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Oscar Wilde seems to have made its way into the beginning of this chapter. My condolences for it. I expect, for those of you who follow Wilde, you now know how this sweet little romance of Albus' will end.


	9. Strike

Fourth year was not any more eventful than third year, except that the classes were getting a bit harder, Hogsmeade visits were a bit less impressive, and it seemed as though every girl in the year (and half the boys) had spontaneously developed an intense interest in the opposite sex. Albus' life, pleasantly parceled between classes, Scorpius, and Amarinth, settled into a kind of patterned daze, occasionally interrupted by town outings and Quiddich matches. James sometimes tried to heckle Albus into starting to prepare for the Triwizard Tournament now so that he'd be sure to be champion when his turn came about.

It was quite ridiculous, since the TT had taken place at Durmstrang the previous term, and therefore he didn't have to worry about it for another two years. James was just irritating because, despite being on the train with a handful of other students, he hadn't been elected to represent the school, and he required that a Potter be the one to bring the cup back to Hogwarts. Albus was fairly sure it had more to do with the fact that he was the youngest to have gone, and the Champion had been a seventh year all ready for every NEWT required to advance him into the field of Auror. Hogwarts hadn't won anyway; they hadn't since 2003- 5 tournaments lost running now. (The tournament had skipped 1997, obviously, as Voldemort had been strong and terrorizing students then, but the magical community had been awfully quick in picking it up again three years later.)

In any case, he was feeling quite at home. Christmas vacation had been quite cozy; he'd owled Scorpius twice and Amaranth once, on the holiday itself, and received several from her and none from his friend. He received an emerald-green jumper from his grandmother, as usual, and an attractive silver muffler from his aunt Hermione, which Uncle Ron seemed to mind- boxes of jokes from Uncle George, and a set of ebony chessmen from Uncle Ron. From his parents he received books, antique scales and an Army Knife they had hidden away for him since that summer, etched with his full name and a tiny snake.

From Scorpius he received the usual box of his mother's sweets, and from Amaranth hand-knitted gloves with tiny ravens flying about the wrist. He sent her a locket of little importance, because it was bronze and decorated with tiny blue stones, though he didn't bother to put anything inside; to Scorpius, for both Christmas and a late birthday, a tiny scarab he'd begged Uncle Bill to procure for him that would warn him if it's owner ever befell danger. (Scorpius had shown him an image of one in passing once and he'd immediately been swept with the desire to get him the enchanted amulet.)

James laughed at him for getting his friend a far more expensive gift than his girlfriend, but he only needed casually remind James what had happened to that expensive gift he had given HIS girlfriend- now ex, and now dating a girl, which seemed to amuse Freddie to no end and therefore was brought up quite often.

The scarab came in useful far earlier than Albus had expected- in fact, he'd never really expected it to be of use at all, and was surprised to wake to find it brushing his face with its wings as it flew erratically about him one crisp January morning. He sat up slowly, reaching for his glasses. "Scorpius?" he asked blearily, and received no answer. No surprise, though- he expected everyone was still asleep. It felt far too early. He yawned and was forced to duck as the tiny magical insect of an amulet dove at his head. "Alright, alright." He pushed his curtains open, reaching over to tug Scorpius' aside.

The Malfoy was pale- far more than usual, quite purely alabaster, the faintest tinge of pink in his skin now tinged a sickly yellow. Sightless white-gray eyes stared at the canopy, lashes fluttering, mouth open and gaping like a fish. His breathing was shallow, and his brow wet with a thin sheen of sweat. Albus moved faster than he thought he ever could that early in the morning, and minutes later was at the infirmary with Professor Malrun, Head of Slytherin, and Madame Locke. Within a quarter hour, both of the adult Malfoys had made their way to the school and were standing opposite the boy. He seemed to have regained himself, watching his parents unwaveringly. Draco Malfoy turned to the young Potter boy for the first time he could remember, touching his head lightly. "Thank you," he said in a cool but meaningful tone.

"I would do it again just as soon," he answered, seriously, and was rewarded with a thin smile. He turned to find Scorpius regarding him closely and puffed out his cheeks, feeling awkward amongst the Malfoys. "Well... I have class. I'll bring you homework, Scorpius."

He was never allowed in the infirmary after dinner, no matter how much he begged Madame Locke, so he was forced to change his schedule. Classes he spent with his other Slytherin friends, except Divination, which he had with the Ravenclaws and therefore his girlfriend. He spent dinner and the few intermediate hours between then and curfew with her, too, but any time after breakfast and out of classes he spent with Scorpius, going over the day's lessons, doing homework, talking about whatever came to mind (Scorpius, of course, only listened.) More often than not he was barely on time for his next lesson, and quite late to dinner. None of the teachers seemed to mind too much- they all knew about his situation, and they were quite happy to have their best student being kept up to date. In addition, Albus, who had always been a half-interested student in most of his classes, was rapt at all times now, to be sure that he could share the lesson properly. The change in his grades was quite astounding in his worst classes.

(The two extra classes Scorpius had that Albus did not were quite a mystery to him, so he could not help, but he did find himself knowing the teachers just as well as their actual students, sharing small talk with them as he went to pick up the other boy's work.)

Amaranth seemed to mind, though, and was becoming more and more apt to fits of melancholy or bitterness when he was about, which he found quite ridiculous in a fourteen-year-old girl. He payed her all attentions when he was with her, too, and couldn't understand why she seemed so put-out all the time. He was with her at least two hours a day, and even if Scorpius came up in conversation often enough there was no reason to be so angry.

In any case, Scorpius didn't seem to be fairing much better. He looked like himself, but whenever he reached for a glass of water his hands shook. Albus didn't know what was wrong, and Scorpius did not seem at all inclined to hint- Madame Locke certainly would not tell him anything, even as, once or twice, he crossed an unknown Healer from St. Mungo's entering the infirmary. But he did not push. He worried quietly, and always made sure the scarab was close by.


	10. SnapCrackle(Pop)

March came before Amaranth finally exploded. "You're spending way too much time with him!" she yelled, her face pinched-looking in its little-girl fury, stomping her foot as she rounded on Albus in the empty room she'd led them to. Both the locket he'd given her for Christmas and the bracelet from Valentine's were absent from her person, though he was hardly surprised.

He stared at the girl for a moment, gaping, before his expression darkened, snarling as his eyes narrowed. "Excuse me? My best friend has been in the hospital wing for weeks, he's not getting any better, no one knows what's wrong with him or how to fix it, and you're upset because I spend visiting hours making sure he doesn't fall behind in classes?"

She seemed to shrink as his words got sharper, avoiding his eye, but she stubbornly crossed her arms and turned her head, cheeks burning with shame (somehow it wasn't quite cute this way), glaring at the wall. He waited for her to say something, but when she did nothing he turned to leave.

"If you walk out of this door," she called out to him coldly as his fingers met the handle, turning her head to look at him sideways, "we're through."

He turned to give her a long and unwavering stare, which she met with equal force. "I never would have thought you to be so selfish," he told her softly, emotionlessly. "Goodbye then."

He turned from her and stepped through the threshold, slamming the door behind him with resounding force.

(He heard later that she was found a good hour after the event, crying in a corner of the room, but he found it hard to care, even as Amaranth's best friend slapped him. He only watching her with cold eyes and smirked as she screamed in unfettered rage before telling her, in cold anger and in no short terms, why exactly he wasn't at fault and how she'd find some particularly nasty things being spread about her and his ex-girlfriend if either of them dared speak badly of Scorpius again.)

The rest of the day he spent alone, stomping up and down the common room, the other Slytherins avoiding him neatly. He left for breakfast as soon as he could the next morning, and left breakfast as soon as possible for the Hospital Wing. He looked tired as he sat beside the bed, and quietly directed his pieces against Scorpius' set of marble chessmen, though his team was being pushed back with little effort. Once they had played through a game, Scorpius handed him a letter, folded at an odd point so that only a certain portion of the text was visible.

The hand was not one Albus recognized. Written in cobalt, the script was smooth and feminine, small but quite legible despite the ornate letters.

-The creams I have sent you have your medicine inside them. St Mungo's has just given me a new prescription; they hope that it will work far better. Your father assures me that they know what they're doing, but a mother always worries, as you know. I'm told that this particular concoction can have a quite serious effect on one that is healthy, so do be sure to keep them away from your Albus. I'll be going to Brazil to speak with a Healer there, so I shan't be about to send him anything for his birthday, but do tell him to have a good year for me, and I'll send him some Millefeuille as soon as I get back.

The letter had greater length, but its text had been folded back, so Albus did not read on despite his curiosity. It seemed rather formal. He was certain it held great feeling, but there was an awkwardness in the way it was shared. Scorpius undoubtedly had no trouble reading past it, however. He glanced at the box beside the boy; each of the small delicacies had tiny labels with a date and time. Albus only wished that his own medicine could look and taste so good when he was sick, though the way she'd described it put him on edge. Why would one try to remedy an illness with something that would sicken the healthy?

He only sighed, and thought instead of his birthday- in a week and a day, he would be fifteen. There wasn't anything terribly magical about the age, but he felt it was alright to look forward to it anyway.

The week passed quickly enough. James, captain of the Quiddich team like their father and uncle Oliver, had been quite nervous over the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match and therefore had been taking out his anxious tension on Albus, asking him the most ridiculous questions about Quiddich (which Albus cared nothing about) and the breakup with his girlfriend (which was certainly not a subject he felt like discussing with anyone, especially not his brother.) He found the whole thing quite ostentatious, and by the fourteenth he was in a particularly irritable mood.

He needed a hobby, that was it. He pondered on it, wondered what he could do that wasn't rampant in his rather large family. Quiddich was out- James or not he'd never had an interest in it, despite his mother and his uncle's words of encouragement when he was young. Grandpa Weasley collected plugs and Percy Weasley collected miniature astronomer's globes. Grandma Weasley knitted, Aunt Hermione had her books, Uncle George his comical inventions, his father ran the Auror department with Uncle Ron so who knew if they had time for hobbies at all. Rose had her writing and Lily her garden- Neville (Professor Longbottom, whatever) had even given her a small, empty corner of Greenhouse Three for her own. He'd heard some muttering about it, but Neville had told them that as her Head of House he thought it would help wonderfully with her self-growth and if everyone could please shut up and stop complaining because they all had better things to do.

After long thought he resolved that it was quite strange no one in the family had ever learned to play an instrument. He supposed the Weasley family of old couldn't have afforded it, but it seemed hardly a problem now. Nevertheless, it would be wonderful to learn. However, finding a teacher out here would be a problem, so- there was only one answer, really. (That way, one day, he might be able to play the song that was written for him, and that would be wonderful.)

He'd made up his mind: he'd ask Scorpius to teach him the harp.


	11. Sermon

Albus' birthday came finally. He hadn't tried to sleep the night before, studying for a Care of Magical Creatures exam on famous multiple-hybrid creatures: Manticores, Hippogriffs, Sphinxes, etcetera, and the way one aught to behave about them. (Frankly, Albus thought the answers were obvious. Run the hell away, bow and be polite, bring a Ravenclaw with you.) It wasn't for the sake of studying so much as an excuse to stay awake. He was far too excited, and he glanced furtively at the clock. His lids grew heavy, though, and with a wicked grin to himself when the hands met at '12' he went to sleep.

He woke halfway through breakfast and didn't care, throwing his curtains aside- and first thing in the morning received the best surprise he could have: Scorpius, patiently seated in a chair nearby and waiting for him to leave for breakfast. Albus laughed and almost threw his arms around the boy (but didn't).

They emerged in the Great Hall together, Albus practically running to his siblings and cousins. They were all together at the Gryffindor table, even Hugo, who was in Hufflepuff, waiting for him. He got quite a few strange looks from other students- not because of the raucous morning celebration, but because Scorpius had followed him to the other House's table, and despite staring at the sky as always he did not move away from the Weasley's, even as James jostled him and Lily sat closely beside him, blushing vermilion but grinning at some girls farther down. (Albus didn't notice.)

He didn't get a heap of gifts, necessarily- a small pewter ankh from Bill, who despite having worked in the London branch of Gringotts for twenty years now was still quite happy to encourage a love of Egypt, and a small crystal sphere from Percy and Oliver that reflected the constellations above them, supported by tiny jade dragons. Scorpius' gaze seemed to have moved from shifting clouds to shifting stars and, laughing, Albus pushed it towards him, and watched as the pale adolescent tapped his nail against the object. He was surprised to see that it zoomed into that spot, the white light of Antares, the Scorpion-shaped constellation's brightest star, reflecting in his friend's studious gaze.

From his cousins and brother together he received Honeydukes and WWW merchandise, though he passed the small package of Colorchanging Corn to Freddie. (The promised Millefeuille from Scorpius' mother appeared on the nineteenth, and Albus thought that four days were hardly something to warn one in advance about, but whatever. She'd also sent him a Brazilian carnival mask which was charmed to put it's wearer in a particularly jolly mood, which amused him greatly. He wasn't quite sure why the woman loved sending him things so much, but was hardly one to complain. The note said 'for taking care of my dearest son,' which was silly. They were friends.)

Classes were far better for him now that Scorpius was back. He made paper airplanes and didn't really ask any question and half of his teachers asked to speak to him after class and begged him not to let his grades slip back down, now that they all knew he had the ability to do so well. (The other half were his extra classes, which Scorpius didn't take, and transfigurations and potions, which he had always gotten high grades in- and, of course, Binns.)

He didn't remember his resolution until the next day, putting his pen down resolutely as they went over their homework for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Albus waited until Scorpius looked up at him before starting, drawing in a deep breath. "Teach me to play."

Scorpius continued to look at him, though he seemed rather to be staring at the wall. Not knowing made him unhappy- he'd been getting so good! Maybe it had been because Scorpius had been sick at the time. (And wasn't that just backwards?) "I'm serious," he added eventually, grumbling and mildly put-out. "I want to learn. At least to be able to play that piece we wrote. Won't you help me?"

Scorpius stared for a moment more before- without there seeming as though there was any intermediary position- he was reviewing his work again, the scratching of his quill the only sound.

Albus frowned and he huddled over his own papers. The matter had undoubtedly been settled in the Malfoy's mind, but he didn't know in which direction.

The next day he showed up in the Room of Requirement just as his free period was beginning, glancing around. Scorpius was nowhere in sight, but as he had been spending this period with Amaranth before the boy had fallen ill, he wasn't absolutely sure of his schedule. He stood about awkwardly, looking more closely at the other instruments, plucking a cello string here and making a terrible high squeak out of a clarinet there, before he plunked at the piano listlessly.

Scorpius appeared an hour later, showing (of course) no surprise at Albus' presence. A second harp materialized beside the first, though plainer, and Albus grinned giddily, darting over to the instrument beside Scorpius'.

The lessons progressed three hours a day, two days a week. Albus spent his free time which Scorpius was in class practicing the basics. As a hobby, he had no idea how time consuming an instrument would be. He had no idea how much went into it- especially an instrument like the harp, with it's numerous strings. He regretted choosing such a complicated instrument many times, and once spent three weeks refusing to practice. (In those three weeks Scorpius taught the same lesson each time, in exactly the same way, so Albus eventually gave up and began practice again.)

By the end of the term, his fingers had become tender and sometimes bled and hardened, he had mastered several scales, learned the basics of reading music, and managed to learn the first dozen bars of 'Albus Severus Potter, Slytherin's first movement (which he had saw the second time he opened the parchment, eyebrows arching, was named 'The Phoenix's Wizard.')

In his last lesson, taking place the day after their exam reports had come in and the day before they were sent back to London, Scorpius had presented him with a small simple piece he was to read and mark over the summer, and a theory book. "You'll send me homework?" he asked with a laugh, and Scorpius regarded him so seriously he had to grin, joking about the deep shock that would come to all involved when they realized Scorpius was actually owling more than his mother's delicacies to anyone.

They spent their train ride together this time, and Albus noticed seemingly for the first time that he almost never spent any time with the other Slytherin's anymore- somehow he didn't mind so much. Lily sat with them for a while: he ignored her, and she thought that Scorpius did too since he spent the whole time either watching the chess set as they played or looking out the window, so she left quickly enough, pouting.

He said goodbye to Scorpius loudly, promised to write twice a week, and waved at the Malfoy parents when he pushed his cart past them, beaming when the boy's mother smiled warmly at him. When he reached Harry and Ginny he first hugged them both and then asked for a harp. Ginny drew back, blinking in suprise, but his father only laughed hearily and said that he only would under the condition that they would be regaled with regular concerts, and shouldn't he need a teacher? Albus said he had one, and Harry didn't ask further, taking Lily's hand as the whole family marched back to the car.


	12. Strung Up

Summer came and went; Albus's fingers were strong, hands wide. Harry and Ginevra had wasted no time in telling the whole family about how their youngest son had miraculously learned to play a musical instrument while at Hogwarts, even though they didn't seem to know how nor where he'd learned it from. It also seemed that he was far better friends with the Malfoy boy now, because he was getting a letter every week, and twice a month asked his father if he could go visit (Harry, of course, never refused, and only asked Albus to reschedule once because the excited boy had forgotten to plan around his own father's birthday.)

He improved drastically over the summer, having both far more free time and a particularly encouraging family. Lily seemed to love watching the strings vibrate. Percy had gone on about how wonderful it was, and then gotten into string width versus frequency while Oliver laughed himself silly in the background; Hermione bought him all sorts of albums, quite pleased that there would be a musician in the family. (It seemed that she had wanted to learn the flute, herself, but had never quite gotten the hang of it before being sent to Hogwarts, and discovered then that self-teaching oneself an instrument didn't quite work as well as could be expected. Ron apparently had never heard of such a thing, nor had Harry.) George only made cheeky comments about playing a lady's instrument, though he listened to him playing all the same. Fleur loved it, and asked him to play every time Bill and she were over (and that seemed to happen more than usual.) Charlie clapped him on the shoulder and told him he'd bring him to Romania with him to 'soothe the savage beasts,' which made his father pale oddly. Ginny was of course quite proud, and got him an extra set of the thinnest strings. Tuning, of course, got to be a real mess, since his brother had a habit of running his fingers over the strings carelessly every time he went past. (Somebody recommended he do it by asking his parents to cast on it, but he felt it best to do everything by hand. Music had a completely different kind of magic that was best not meddled with using wands.)

Towards the end of summer, it got harder to do anything because, finally of age, James had the most irritating habit of apparating from room to room, just because he could. It was all made worse when he got his Hogwarts letter- he'd completely forgotten that he was to take his OWLs this year. He swallowed the nasty feeling in his throat and pushed it down, frowning. He leaned away when his mother's bright eyes passed over the letter, grumbling an annoyed 'what?'. "Oh, nothing, dear," she smiled, ruffling his hair, and he had to try and pat down the mess of dark strands. It didn't do any good, of course.

Diagon Alley was thick with rain, the day they went, and rather than feeling excited about seeing his friends again he spent his time skulking about, dreading the heavy workload they would have this year, and the resultant death to his practice time. He didn't see any Slytherins from his year, either, which seemed odd, though he did have an unfortunate run-in with Amarinth that involved the shortest and spikiest hello of his life, a fast lie and ducking behind a tall bookcase when he almost came face to face with her again in Flourish and Blotts twenty minutes later. If his day intended on getting any better, it certainly didn't show it. Soaking wet and irritated, he barely avoided dropping his refilled potions case when he tripped over a moving rubbish bin leaving the apothecary. Even Uncle George's shop didn't seem to help- within fifteen minutes of entering he'd been hit with at least three rubber chickens that were seconds ago disguised as wands, an old favorite, and crashed into a display when somebody nearby decided to test out Peruvian Blackout Powder.

The 1st of September found him in a surly mood. He kissed his mother and father goodbye and left for a compartment right away. He had to walk half the train to even find one, refusing to speak to anyone as he settled in a corner and read. Scorpius did not appear until an hour after they had left the station, sitting across from him and staring vaguely out of the fogged window. Albus glanced up to asked him about the sudden appearance- he'd he settled already?- but found a small, waxed badge pinned to the boy's chest. Of course. Prefects were assigned this year, weren't they? And there had been no doubt that the honor would be given to Scorpius. His grades were nearly perfect, he never caused trouble, and despite (or perhaps because of) his odd ways, no one would dare ignore his directions, rarely given as they were. He certainly wouldn't take advantage of his position either.

Albus sighed and put his book down in his lap, slouching. Scorpius was still the tallest, though the difference had decreased over the summer. His hair now reached his shoulders, and that wave, so faint last year, now showed clearly enough; strong pointed features kept it from making the boy look too effeminate. "Finished with rounds?" Albus asked airily.

Scorpius looked at him patiently and he groaned, fingers working at unknotting his neck. "Just had a bad fews days. A good meal will sort me out. My cousin Kaeyl is starting this year, and Uncle Oliver says that if she's in Slytherin- which I won't doubt, she's a sly one- I'm supposed to make sure she comes to no trouble. I don't feel like babysitting though. We're already going to be bogged down this year."

Scorpius waited for him to continue, and when Albus just sank into his chair further, looking out the window, he slept instead.

Albus spent the rest of the train ride reading or else going over to motions of his playing in mid-air. Scorpius didn't seem to wake, but since Albus didn't look at him directly there was really no way to tell. Lily passed at least twice, but never came in, though she did peer in quite intently. The tall wizard pushing the sweets trolley leaned in, but Albus shook his head without looking up. He left to change, despite the fact that they were the only two there, and came back to find Scorpius watching him, eyes fixed on every movement. "We'll be there soon," he muttered, combing his fingers through his hair in a completely useless effort, using the pointed tip of his ring to scratch the back of his neck. "Do you reckon we'll have time twice a week, with the OWLs and your Prefect duties?" He unknotted and reknotted his tie; it obstinately refused to straighten correctly and he pulled it off with a quiet growl, tucking it into his bag. Who would deduct someone points for being out of uniform during the Welcoming Feast?

The Sorting was long, and Albus ignored it in the most part, only glancing at the hat when 'Wood, Kaeyl' perched on the three-legged stool before the school- sinking his head onto his arms when she darted over to Slytherin, seating herself squarely in the empty seat beside the Bloody Baron (the only other empty seat being on the ghost's other side) and, despite the aversion the rest of the students seemed towards the silver-stained spectre, turned to him with big and curious eyes and struck up a conversation with him right away. Strange, strange girl, in his opinion. Then again, her father was quite the punctilious type on his own, and apparently had been on the level of polite acquaintance with all of the Hogwarts Ghosts. He wasn't sure he believed it, there were quite a good number, but he wouldn't put it past Uncle Percy to speak to everyone he ever met that might give him a leg up. (His grandmother often told him that Percy would no doubt become the youngest Ministry of Magic one day, though he was cutting it close by now. He seemed quite happy in his position at the head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation.)

The feast had a far more rejuvinating effect than he expected, and he went to bed feeling quite comfortable, glad for the first time in a week that the new term was starting up.


	13. Siblings

"Al, coooould you introduce me to Scorpius? He's adorable!" His sister's voice was higher-pitched than usual.

Albus quirked a brow, emerald-green eyes squinting down at the girl. "You're only thirteen, Lil. A bit early, isn't it?"

"Yes, well, I'm not the only one," she snapped, cheeks blooming scarlet even as she stared defiantely up. "Rose fancies him too. You should've heard her going on about how he has perfect grades, and he never does anything wrong, and he's so pretty and- it's almost enough to turn a girl off someone."

"Apparently not," he muttered, bewildered. "But all the same, if either of you want to do something for him, his birthday's on the first of next month. I don't guarrentee he'll say anything to you for it, though. In fact, I'd bet against it."

She frowned and pouted, punching him in the shoulder and flouncing off. "Girls," he grumbled, rubbing his arm and dreading the amount of questions both of his relatives would undoubtedly be perstering him with about his friend for the rest of the month.

And pester him they did, which he found increasingly bizzare. The very image of Scorpius dating his sister or cousin- or anyone, really- made very little sense. Any time he thought on it, a vivid picture of Lily and Rose sitting around a too-small table with Scorpius (who would have been forced into a rather ridiculous tophat and bowtie, and always seemed to be sporting a monocle), drinking tea, would spring into his mind. He'd spend the next minute laughing so hard his eyes would mist with tears.

When he tried seriously, for the good of the girls (or whatever), he knew that Scorpius was entirely not the sort of person to hold them, touch them even; dating him would be like dating an image, an idea- kissing him would be like kissing marble. Talking to him was like talking to a wall. Albus didn't mind, because he had a good idea of Scorpius' character, and hardly expected or needed more, but if Amarinth taught him something it was that girls needed to be the center of attention. Neither Lily, who was sweet and bright, nor Rose, who loved adventure and gossip, would be able to stand him for long, and he had no doubt they would be terribly upset. No, he thought the entire thing to be a bad idea. Nobody would be happy, him the least. (After he had thought that he puzzled over it, frowning. Why had it sprung to mind that way? But it made sense: he would have to take care of both girls, the one that left Scorpius and the one that had never had him, and also have to deal with both of them badmouthing his best friend and telling him that he aught to find better when he was perfectly happy, thankyoumuchly.) He brought it up to Scorpius the day before the boy's birthday, so that he would have an idea where the extra gifts had come from. Scorpius, in his own manner, had assuaged his worries.

The next day he was quite surprised to find that gifts had come from more than just Rose and Lily; he didn't know half these names, but he was sure one or two were seventh years even. It quite creeped him out. Scorpius only opened the ones from the Weasleys and the Potters, no doubt in deference to Albus. He ignored the gifts thereafter (they vanished at the bottom of his trunk) and the two girls didn't mention them again. Christmas came and went, and soon they were facing Valentine's Day, Albus with dread and Scorpius with absolutely no notice to the date whatsoever.

Albus actually received a good number of gifts himself Admittedly, the majority were from family, but he still received three from girls he couldn't remember having a decent conversation with. OWLs and practice kept him busy, and he wasn't in a hurry to repeat the previous fiasco, so other than smiling and thanking them he never brought it up again. The girls seemed to have the presence of mind not to either, though they looked at him like kicked puppies for the remainder of the week. Scorpius' pile was bigger, and he didn't give any of them a single glance: the Slytherins sitting nearby at breakfast asked if they could take them, wanting the chocolate, and seeing as he didn't answer, snatched them away.

Albus found himself being stopped on his way to lunch by Reena Valor, an exhasperated-looking sixth year with a mess of dark curls. "Albus Potter?" she asked sharply, tugging on the knot of her green and silver tie.

He shifted his weight, watching her wearily. "Yes?"

"Introduce me to Scorpius Malfoy," she ordered, hands of her hips.

"...I'm sorry?" He sounded cross, and quite felt it too. He was hungry and Care of Magical Creatures had been a mess.

"I said," she repeated slowly, rolling her eyes, as though she were talking to a very small and very stupid boy, "introduce me to Scorpius Malfoy."

"Sorry," he snapped, "but no."

"What did you say?"

"I said no. You seem quite apt at using your mouth, so why don't you do it yourself?"

"Listen, you little brat-" she pointed a sharp and vivid-red nail in his face and he scoffed, cutting her off.

"I don't think Scorpius would like you much after you hit me, if he cares for you at all now. Although I expect he hasn't yet noticed you exist."

"Don't you speak to me that way, you jealous little fiend."

"Oh, I'm the jealous one, am I?"

"One more word-" she looked like a harpy now.

"Goodbye," he interrupted with a cheery smile, and stormed past her and into the Great Hall.

The full story, as he learned later from Rose, was that Valor had been sending Scorpius gifts for Valentine's Day since their first year, at the silly age of twelve, and he hadn't looked at one yet. He wasn't surprised- Scorpius received spectacular sweets from his mother, and if their patterns were of any indication the Malfoy wasn't too big a fan of most chocolates anyway. (He seemed not to mind hazelnut.)

The girl became quite demonstratively rude towards him after that, though at least she avoided any catastrophic scenes or incidents. He actually put effort into keeping her away from Scorpius, just to spite her, and he had the niggling feeling that the boy knew. Rose and Lily certainly seemed to find it funny, at least.

But now the whole thing was stranger. The idea of Lily or Rose in a romantic setting was quite ridiculous for him, since they were relatives, but in Valor's case everything changed. She hardly seemed the sort of girl to settle for hidden kisses and dates at the teahouse, and her (obsessive) interest in Scorpius brought a new sphere to the thought.

Where kissing Scorpius would be a one-sided affair, sleeping with Scorpius would just- geh. He shuddered at the thought of dominating Reena and distant Scorpius.

It would be like an experiment for the Malfoy- a faint frown as his fingers mapped skin, scientific analysis in whatever part of his expression one could actually discern and blank vagueness otherwise. Absolutely no sexual interest whatsoever. Wouldn't someone looking at you so intensely- through you, even- kill the mood rather quickly? Imagine trying to get off while someone looked at you and handled you like you were a item to inspect, to test for breakage. Unless you were into that sort of thing, he supposed. Which Reeva probably was.

He gagged on the thought, resolved not to think about it anymore, and went on with his life-- until Reena Valor actually made up her mind to introduce herself to Scorpius at dinner. Her smile was so sweet it unnerved Albus, words soft (and undoubtedly fake, if he had anything to wager by). Scorpius looked down from the ceiling for the first time in his Hogwarts career, regarding the woman carefully before speaking.

"Filling one's body with a fabricated soul shows bad manners," he said, calm and edgeless, "whether in the corporeal or in the mind." Seemingly content, he turned his eyes back to the ceiling. The girl stayed in her seat for several stunned moments, looking completely puzzled, before standing and dazzedly walking to the other end of the table where her friends waited. She wasn't quite sure what had happened, but she knew at least that she had been insulted somehow. Albus burst into mirthful laughter and didn't manage to stop until someone threw a scone at his head.


	14. Stress

Time sank on Albus like a lead weight. He'd just passed his birthday and, rather than being happy about it, it only reminded him that OWLs were now three months away. Easy enough, one would think, but a good dozen people had already been sent to Madame Locke for tonics and Vanessa Stodge had almost not returned after Christmas Break at all. James had only failed History of Magic, but his only E was in DADA and he had no Os to speak of. He needed an O in Potions to take it next term, but no one doubted his abilities. Unfortunately, for the several possible career paths he was considering, a P History of Magic would be fine, but he'd need an E in DADA, Care of Magical Creatures and Transfigurations, as the teachers all required as much, and it'd be nice to have an E in Charms if he could help it. Two years ago he never wouldn't guessed he'd care for more than a pass in his OWLs, like his brother, but apparently wanting to do more than Quiddich caused some problems.

If he thought on it logically it would occur to him that he was actually a quite clever wizard, and ahead of a good portion of his classmates. Neville Longbottom assured him that, despite his fumblings, he would certainly test well enough to pass. Astronomy was hard to learn wrong with someone like Scorpius about, and Oliver and Percy's gift helped. His skills in potions were natural, he'd received exceptional hex and counter-hex abilities from his parents, inherited his grandmother's beautiful charms work, and if everything went as it was, he'd be an animagus before his twentieth birthday- like his grandfather. Headmistress McGonagall, though retired for a handful of years now, was an old friend of the family's, and he intended to ask her to tutor him next summer, and to convince Scorpius to learn with him. That aught to get him a NEWT, as well, so that would be out of the way and he wouldn't have to go through this again in two years.

The workload grew heavier and, as he struggled beneath it, he was forced to practice his harp only a half-hour a day, and two hours on saturday, with their lesson sunday- then a half-hour every second day, practicing still during weekends; soon he only put in an hour a week, and a short lesson, and he practically felt himself getting rusty, fingers softening eversoslightly. He often rubbed his fingers, staring at them in melancholy, during class, until someone nudged him or the teacher called out coldly to him and he'd realize he was missing ten minutes of notes which were probably important.

History of Magic was the worst. Despite four years of spending the class like decades of students before him, in a daydreaming daze or outright sleeping, he tried his best to stay awake, taking tedious notes, tears of frustration building beneath his lids on the longest days. He felt oddly and sickeningly alone in it, despite the time he spent studying with either Scorpius or Rose. He'd even exploded at his excitable sister once or twice when Lily tried to get his attention while he was particularly absorbed in a problem during lunch, and despite heartfelt and repetitive apologies she would storm off either angry or crying and he felt far worse. (He shared with her any of the goods he received from Scorpius' mother, which increased in frequency as he got worse.)

Neville asked him to stay after class one day, and spoke to him in a low and sweet voice, smiling pleasantly and keeping a firm hand on the teenager's shoulder. He gave him an unknown herb to chew on. It tasted like mint and patchouli, and made him feel quite calm and clear-headed for as long as the juices were still in his mouth. The Herbology teacher had recommended that he take only one a week or so but, needing the feeling, he chewed them at each meal at first, and then with increasing frequency. When he went to ask for more, the man refused with a soft sigh. The effects would make his concentration without them worse if he took too many, and- like any tonic- he'd build up a resistance. He came away defeated, and sank deeper into stress-fed despair.

The strangest thing happened one night, at the end of April- Scorpius and he were on the Malfoy's bed, the heavy curtains drawn around them and wand-light hovered over them. A muffling charm had been cast on the thick green velvet, because the noise of their roommates was driving Albus mad. It was past eleven, maybe past midnight, and Albus couldn't seem to recognize the vine that Professor Longbottom had given them to study, despite flipping through A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi at least six times now. He threw the book against the headboard, missing Scorpius' bowed head by inches and screamed, tearing up his empty parchment, before curling up on the spot, shaking. He noted the sound of shifting only in the very back of his mind, and jerked a moment later.

Albus' head shoot up, and he stared at Scorpius with wide eyes, mouth slightly open, as though he'd forgotten how to control his own jaw. It wasn't the slightly crinkled frown Scorpius was looking at him with, white-blue eyes steady and scrutinizing; he'd gotten used to getting that look in the past few years, whenever he said something particularly clever. The cool fingers on the back of his neck, applying light pressure to the tense muscles there- those were new. "Scorpius..?"

The offending hand moved back to the lines of text, Scorpius' gaze lingering on the smaller Slytherin before returning to his notes. "When one's spine is strong, one cannot lose their head."

He shot the adolescent a withered look, but the other boy didn't seem to notice, as usual. Sometimes these supposed reassurances made him feel worse. With a groan he returned to his studies, though he had no desire to continue.

He thought of the touch the rest of the night, analyzing it carefully. The fingertips had been rough, as he'd expected despite their appearance. Their temperature was lower than they should have been, marbleized, but he hadn't been much surprised by it. They seemed to have lessened his fever, despite the short length of contact.

There wasn't much to think about, but he mulled over it again and again until he realized that he'd been staring at the same page for a strange length, and that Scorpius was watching him with an expression of faint trepidation, boring through him.

He looked into pale eyes and sucked in a breath. "Headache. Tired. It's not helping. Look, I'm going to sleep. I'll study tomorrow, right? Okay." He ran his fingers through his hair nervously and gathered his things, tossing them onto his trunk as he slid off the bed and to his own. "Goodnight."

He felt Scorpius' eyes following him until he drew his curtains.


	15. Sibilant

OWLs were only days away now. Albus had managed to regain his footing, and when the mounting stress made him get too out of hand he'd remember Scorpius' words and Rose's raised eyebrows, and sneak off to Honeydukes through the (for some reason) restored passage for a few hours.

Lily's eyes didn't mist on sight when they saw each other anymore, Rose didn't stare blankly at him, and Scorpius- well, the boy never changed, did he? Only Albus, in reaction to that odd moment last month, had gotten a bit closer. Not awfully, but he didn't lean away when the other boy leaned over him to show him something on the harp, and sometimes Scorpius would even correct the position of his hands directly.

Classes went on as usual. Now the lessons focused on review rather than adding onto the extreme load of things they had learned that year, which filled everyone with relief. Albus, predictably, was having the most trouble with History of Magic and, irritatingly enough, Divination. He had been quite happy with the class in third year, but Firenze's lessons were not quite the sorts of things that tended to appear on Wizarding tests, so Trelawney was what they got, and he didn't think it was possible to actually learn less from someone.

She'd predicted both his own and Scorpius' death when he'd first had her in 4th year, to the shock of some and the great annoyance of others (like himself). When he told his parents about it Harry laughed and said that, since Scorpius was not IN her class, at least she was branching out a bit finally, though the effort to cause two deaths was a bit melodramatic even for her.

Albus wasn't sure it was so funny. When she predicted his death (often, and in detail) she rather resembled an overly enthusiastic and jeweled beetle, buzzing about him, but the one time she had predicted Scorpius' demise her voice had been deep, somber and ragged, eyes almost black in the darkness of a hidden corner, alone but for the boy who had gone back for his Goat's Knuckles. She never mentioned it again and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Now, though, she just felt like a crazy old lady, and he half-expected to trip over a cat of hers someday. The smell of her quarters were awful enough. He never seemed to see anything quite well enough for her, and even if he had stopped caring early on and lied to her about the 'nasty, gruesome things' he 'saw' in whatever they were supposed to read, he had a feeling the OWL examiners wouldn't be quite so easy to impress.

It didn't help that neither Scorpius nor Lily were in the class with him, so he was forced to try to 'open his inner eye' on his own. It was a great mess, really, so for now he would avoid what parts of reading the future involved seeing what wasn't there (say, tea leaves and crystal balls) and instead focus on the more concrete- tarot cards, astrology and palmistry.

The last required someone else, as he was sure to have read his own palm a thousand times by now. (Not that you were meant to.) He'd read Rose's for his homework, and Lily's in her second year because she wanted to know if it was a worthwhile class, so he followed along that trail of thought to the next victim: Scorpius. No doubt the boy had never had his hand read. It wasn't as though he let anyone really touch him to much to begin with, but last he'd checked the Malfoys thought it to be a great waste of time. (Actually, it had never been said by anyone, so he had no inkling as to where the idea had come from, but nevertheless he felt it was probably true.)

Resolved, he asked that night, with the nicest expression he could muster, if he might read Scorpius' palm for practice- hell, it could even be interesting, right? Scorpius stared at him, eyes like sharp steel, and he turned to the pleading 'I don't want a T on my OWLs' approach, which made him feel quite ridiculous but seemed to work. Lumos Maxima was plenty bright enough to show the lines on the boy's hand, but it was still with traces of nervousness that Albus picked up a cool hand for inspection.

Touching Scorpius for extended periods of time still felt odd, and his mind first turned to the unusual marble-like qualities of the taunt skin before he started actually doing what he had intended to.

The actual order of reading changed little, but the most comprehensive way was probably the best- the shape of the hands and fingers would come first, then the most distinct lines they were taught first- then the smaller features- the mounds near the knuckles, the sometimes nonexistent mars lines, etcetera (though the first thing Albus noticed was how oddly pronounced Scorpius' own Mercury line was- a deep, perfect crescent, though he was hardly surprised- he almost laughed at the sight of it, really. Scorpius, intuitive? As though anyone could be mistaken otherwise.)

He looked up with a smile, shifting quickly into quizzical surprise when he saw the expression with which Scorpius stared down at his own palm. The sixteen-year-old's face was oddly tense, the developing lines at the corner of his mouth stark. His lids were low over his eyes, a cold look brimming with distaste; it gave Albus the inexplicable feeling that his friend hated his own hands, or at least whatever truth or lie may be hidden in their lines.

He swallowed and moved his own gaze back to the still hand, brushing his thumb along it's concave center. "Well," he started, in a strained voice, trying to battle away the awkwardness with a smile that made it feel worse, and then couldn't continue. The boy coughed, shifted, and almost changed his mind about the whole thing. Scorpius had never made him feel downright uncomfortable before, at least not since he had actually gotten to know the boy (as much as one could).

He glanced furtively at him before rolling back his shoulders and soldiering on. "Starting with the simplest- you have a psychic palm. See how your hand is kind of narrow and long? It means you have a high sixth sense, and that you've got the tendency to be a perfectionist. Surprising, right?" He chuckled (and it sounded better than he thought it would); Scorpius glanced at him, and the thick air dispersed when Scorpius' face lost that dark edge. Albus grinned, surprised at how easily that had changed, and went back to his 'practice'.

"Your fingers are pretty long- longer than your palm. That's supposed to mean you work intuitively, imaginative- sensitive, apparently. Not very physical, though. Hey, I don't think I'm doing too bad."

"Lessee.... fingers fingers. Um." He pulled the hand closer to his face, peering down at it, lightly running the pads of his fingers over Scorpius' nails. He'd never been that particularly good at telling the shape of people's fingers. Pointed tips were obvious, square too, but between conical and spatulate he always felt uncertain. Just his luck, Scorpius was one of the two. "...either you're a dry, witty bastard that likes hoping off to the rest of Europe or you're a bit of an old soul that has a suspicious ability to tell what people are going through. Since you're you, I'm going to say the second, so... conical fingertips, yea? I reckon this is a bit like doing it backwards, actually." He grinned at the boy, and was rewarded by the faintest lift of eyebrow.

Albus went on. His index traced the line where fingers connected to palm- it arced prettily. "According to this, your views on life are well-balanced and rather moderate. You understand how people see things pretty well, so you're tolerant to other views. Relax your hand, wouldja?" Fingers that had been pressed together slowly relaxed and grew apart. Scorpius' middle and ring finger stayed together, but the other two straightened and drifted away. "Alright, so- you like the peaceful family life, staying at home rather than running off to the great wild. People that are close to you are very important in your life. Lucky me, right?" Green eyes twinkled, and Albus laughed at the faint smile.

He handled Scorpius' hand as though he'd forgotten what it was attached to; he didn't notice that it was no longer cool, turned a faint rosy color by the heat of Albus' broad palms. Albus raised it up to eye-level, peering sideways at it. "Thin, hardish." He thought palm reading to be a bit silly because, aside from their basic shape, he thought a lot of hands were more shaped by experience. His own fingers, for example, were square, but it was a result of how often he had chewed on his nails at a younger age. As his nails grew, they had somehow become rounder. Scorpius' hands were thin, of course, but what made them hard was the muscles from his music. And in palmistry, the difference between 'hard hand' and 'soft hand' was quite vast. Nevertheless, class was class. "Therefore... um. You're a Slytherin, haha." And that was basically the truth of the matter- 'strategic and calculating, seeming cold, takes time to get to know them and earn their trust.' But he doubted every Slytherin had the same hand shape; a ridiculous notion.

"The side of your hand is rather straight, so you're physically weak, and prefer matters of the mind- academics over sports, as it were. You have a water hand- long palm, long fingers, linear markings... considering that your name is Scorpius, the first to be surprised should be smacked." Truthfully, Scorpius was theoretically born under the sign Sagittarius- according to the calendar. If one looked at his chart, though, the sun was in Scorpio at the time (obviously) so.... he thought it was about time someone remade the list, because it was deathly inaccurate these days. "Anyway, that means you have an empathic nature, are sensitive and cultural, and love music and art. Also that, relationship wise, you need to belong to someone to be happy." The last sentence had been said with some difficulty, Albus struggling not to laugh. "Not everything can be a perfect fit, right?" he said quickly, before losing control.

Albus fell on his side, covering his mouth and laughing uncontrollably for a few moments. Scorpius regarded him with a faint air of 'now really,' eyebrows lifted, but with a tenderness than resembled his mother. Albus didn't notice, eventually calming and siting up again, though his mouth twitched into a mirthful smile.

"And that's all on the shape of the hand, so I'll just move on to lines, shall I?" His expression became more serious, brows creasing together in concentration as he stared down at the lax palm, tracing the boy's life line lightly with his nail.

"Let's see. Your life line starts close to your thumb, so you're close to your family- you don't have a particular urge to travel, as you're more than happy to stay at home with your loved ones." He nodded to himself- that was why he hadn't asked Scorpius to join him that first summer. "It curves back around and ends towards your thumb so, as I said, you prefer a solid place to call home, and like staying there." He looked closer, and smiled as he traced a crisscross of lines down and across the base of his thumb. "By the way, these mean you're very loyal to your friends, and that you worry a lot. Anyway- this line here-" he traced a part that met with the lifeline at about a quarter down from the knuckles, and rose up towards his pinky, "is a success line- you may become famous. You want to be a Seer?" he joked with a silly grin, glancing up at the boy.

"Also, see this faint line that doubles your line partways? It usually shows up on twins, but it could mean you have a guardian angel or something. That or you're leading a double life. You're not secretly a wild Don Juan behind my back or anything, are you?"

Albus looked up at Scorpius with a chuckle and a flippant grin, and missed the look of worried trepidation in the Malfoy's eyes. "Then the part everyone always wants to know- 'will I live forever?' I actually hear Nicholas Flammel's lifeline was only down halfway on his palm, but I guess the Philosopher's Stone was cheating. Anyway. So- your line goes down to here-" he pressed his finger into the almost-center of the boy's palm, "and actually it's pretty damn faint, which is rather strange. So it breaks there, and that means that you'll go through a big change, or suffer a great loss. "But!" and he smiled "it starts again just below it, nice and deep, and goes down to the wrist so you should live a nice, long life."

At those words Scorpius snatched his hands away, and was looking at Albus with such a blank and hard look that he felt cold and ill all at once, drawing in a sudden and chopped breath that almost sent him in a coughing fit. "...Scorpius?" he asked in a small and strangled voice, shrinking away from the other teen. "...What's wrong?"

The boy didn't answer but snatched up his quill and bent over his Arithmancy book, a subject he had never touched in Albus' presence before, burying himself in it. The boy got the hint (though he didn't understand what had gone wrong; what the hell was wrong with telling someone they'd live ages anyway?) and stacked his books together before slipping off the bed and to his own, not needing to turn around to know the curtains had shut behind him. He felt ill and a little scared at first, and then downright angry. What the hell was wrong with Scorpius? Idiot.

He pulled the covers over his head and resolved not to care.


	16. Surrender

Albus spent the rest of the study period in fits of irritation: not because of the OWLs but because of Scorpius. The boy never apologized for his brash and sudden dismissal. Albus didn't even bother being surprised by it. It would've been a waste of time to expect it. It drove him mad, though, that the Malfoy didn't show the slightest sign of remorse- or that anything had happened at all. Nothing in his routine changed, even when Albus sat with Rose at meals and studied in his bed with the curtains drawn around him. He would only practice the harp in the hours Scorpius had class, and always left long before the boy had time to appear. He skipped his lesson and snuck off to Hogmeade instead, kicking stones and pointedly avoiding the Shrieking Shack.

At least it kept him from worrying about the exams. From what James told him, his brother had to enlist the help of his female chaser and keeper to drag Rose to bed and force her to stop studying every night. Honestly he still couldn't understand why she hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw; she'd certainly fit in with all their gossips. He returned from the Herbology exam- their first- with a serious headache, and wondered how anyone thought a bunch of fifteen and sixteen year olds could have the academic endurance to take these ridiculously long test for each of their subjects all within the space of a week, especially with one in the middle of the night.

As the OWLs progressed, he rather forgot he was mad at Scorpius (or why, since he had a vivid memory of the subtle fear in the boy's eyes when he had caught him staring at his palm, and should've known then something would happen.) He rather ceased to be upset at all when he found out that Scorpius had personally gone to Lily and asked if she had seen her brother when Albus had skipped his lesson. It made him smug, even, and he was more than glad to go over the exam material with Scorpius after that.

The year ended on a happy note. Rose had apparently given up on her crush and started going out with a HufflePuff whose name he never seemed to remember- a sweet boy, though, whose smile grew dazzling when he held hands with her (that was always a good sign, in his opinion.) Lily hadn't, but he thought it was better for his baby sister, since she wouldn't be going out with any unscrupulous characters this way. James graduated with who knew how many NEWTs, and excitedly told everyone that, with Uncle Oliver's and their mother's guidance, he'd managed to land himself the position of reserve seeker for the Montrose Magpies.

James moved into an apartment with the Magpies' reserve keeper on the first of July, though he came back for dinner every saturday. Albus forgot quite thoroughly about his OWLs, returning to his usual practice schedule on the harp- he felt rusty, though he was better than he had been the previous year. Scorpius owled him some instructions, but they didn't meet in person for classes. Scorpius also did not join him for his Animagus lessons with McGonagall, though he heard from her that a colleague of hers was, in fact, tutoring the boy on the subject. He wasn't sure as to the reason, but he didn't doubt one existed. Honestly he didn't think too hard about it, spending most of the time he wasn't playing running around outside or going to the nearest town. Uncle George even payed him to work part-time at the Diagon Alley branch of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes, since the man was often off working on opening a new branch in Ireland.

Before he knew it leaves were edged in red and gold, crinkling at the tips. With the warmer colours he remembered that their letters would be coming at any time, and therefore the OWL scores. Despite knowing that he had done better than many a nerve-ridden student, the OWLs dictated a young wizard's possible path in life and, being related to so many influential people or not, some jobs one simply couldn't do without the right test score. (As they'd all decided, once again, it was quite unfair to put that sort of pressure on fifteen and sixteen year olds.)

Without any particular warning one day, several hours after he had returned home from work, Harry came up to tell him that not only were Draco and Scorpius Malfoy standing just inside the entranceway of their home, but that Albus better hurry and put on some dress robes because apparently they were set on bringing him somewhere and, no, nobody had told the boy's father exactly what this something was. The elder Potter looked mildly harrassed but not worried, so Albus ran about changing and rejoined the other two downstairs shortly. He appeared behind Harry's arm, and smiled at the other boy across from him. Scorpius seemed to have stopped growing, but his hair was pulled in a low, short ponytail that rather amused Albus- not that it looked bad on him, but it rather reminded him of the boy's surly, spiteful grandfather, Lucius "For Merlin's sake, father, leave the children alone and stop trying to hex the Potter's boy under your breath!" Malfoy.

"No chance you're telling me where you're bringing Albus, Draco?"

"For heaven's sake, Potter, if you haven't guessed based on the wonderful things those two have in common that would even require dressing well, I don't think you deserve to be told. I imagine you'll hear all about it when I return your son to you, safe and sound."

"Fine then." The arm blocking the entranceway withdrew, and Albus crossed over to Scorpius. Malfoy the Elder arched a brow at him, took both boys by the arm, and Disapparated.

When Albus looked up (after he had staggered sideways into a gilded wall), he stilled, mouth agape with awe. They were in a cavenous hall, the ceiling enchanted in a way that resembled the Great Hall, only not quite so. It was dark, a pregnant moon bright and high in the sky, while he knew perfectly well that the sun had not yet set- and even had they moved that far east, the moon should have been in a thin, waning crescent. Stardust seemed to fall down towards them but vanish several feet above the slowly-growing crowd of finely-dressed men and women, middleaged or higher except for a dot here and there. He glanced at Scorpius, curious as to his reaction to the ceiling but, despite his usual apt attention, the boy seemed to not have noticed. 'It must be because it's fake,' Albus thought, and turned his attention to the seats. They were crowded together in theater rows, though they looked supremely comfortable, lined in red velvet. Draco shepherded them to the stairs, where they passed through a thick curtain and came into a small box with two rows of four seats. One was already occupied by Scorpius' mother, who smiled and offered the seat beside her, which he took without pause. Scorpius sat on his other side, and Draco beside him. (Lucius and Narcissa appeared later, and the last two were left empty.)

People were still milling about below, checking and double-checking their tickets to make sure they had the right seat. A trio of children probably bound for Hogwarts that fall were staring at the ceiling in wonder while their parents tried to tug them towards their row. A pair of amicable-looking gentlemen with thick mustaches were chatting in a corner, one leaning on a solid redwood cane. Eventually the lights darkened, and Albus watched as the moondust disappeared and clouds obscured the moon, leaving only a faint glow. The sounds of a hundred strings drew his attention to the stage instantly. He watched raptly as they tuned their instruments- obviously, the sound was not yet the best, but he'd never been to a concert and- he leaned forward without realizing it, his elbows against his knees, eyes wide and only seeing vaguely as he almost felt his hearing sharpen.

At last, an elderly gentleman appeared, shook hands with the first violinist, and bowed to the crowd's heavy applause. Then- a single, clear, high note, and he was lost. The world around him faded into obscurity, even as the sky turned violet and cobalt and dusted with vermilion, as wisps of fairies and unicorns and blooms of flowers shaped themselves in a milky cloud midair. He watched fingers dance and bows rise and fall in unison without seeing, deep mournful sounds vibrating through him, high trills as though birds, wails like a crying woman.

In the spaces of his mind he found the love of his life and lost her, he walked barefoot through a glen padded with soft moss as the sun rose between the trees. He became an eagle, high in the mountains, a sparrow flitting across a field- he saw mooncalves dance through fields of grain, felt the fawns around him as they drank and pranced, felts the cool, perfumed winds of late eastern summer brush against his face.

Intermission caught him by surprise and, startled and feeling distinctively uncomfortable in his own body, he fell back in his chair, dumbfounded even as Lucius muttered something particularly crude about his lack of decorum. He turned wide eyes to Scorpius, trying to slow his own heartbeat, and gave a start. Scorpius was still staring ahead, posture as straight and neutral as always. His eyes, however, were the very color of early morning fog, a single tear rolling down a pale cheek, unnoticed (else ignored) by its owner. Albus quickly looked away, swallowing, and sank deeper into his chair, bewildered.

The second half of the concert opened with a cello concerto- he didn't know much about the instrument, other than it's appearance- it seemed made for the deeper, hidden emotions of the human soul, though, and by the end he wondered how it was possible not to cry in the face of beautiful music. His head hung almost between his knees, and he listened with every ounce of his self, though somehow a part of him had become hypersensitive to Scorpius' presence beside him. Sometimes he seemed to forget about himself and felt like the cello was the boy beside him instead, a single dark, mournful note in the midst of hundreds of voices that followed him, reflected him- like planets around a hidden sun, the waters beneath the darkened moon. He sank deeper into the sound, and by the time the concert ended he felt weak, drained, and somehow different.

As though he could understand, now- himself, the men who had composed these pieces- the conductor, the cellist, every man and woman on the stage, in the audience.

They had cried together, no doubt, whether visibly or not. Found love, space...

Why hadn't he known music could be like this, why had he never listened this closely?

Draco had to practically pull the boy out of his chair and help him up so the two could apparate back (Albus didn't speak to Scorpius, but for once maybe understood why the boy usually stayed silent. He neither wanted nor needed to speak.) He collapsed against the wall and thanked the man a thousand times for bringing him. Draco only nodded, rapped his knuckles against the door and wished Albus a good night before he and his son vanished into the deepening darkness.

Harry and Ginny fussed endlessly over the boy's disposition, forcing him to drink a large mug of hot chocolate before sending him off to bed. He didn't dream, for he already had.


	17. South

The odd feelings that had swarmed him the night of the concert felt like someone else's whispers when he woke, and he remembered it as though an observer to himself. He did try to explain what had affected him so, and instead felt the full weight of language's inability. Ginny left it alone after he'd assured her that he'd enjoyed it fully, and life went back to itself- work, dinner with James once a week, school.

When his and Lily's letter arrived he passed the package on to her, and nearly choked on his toast when she asked him if he 'didn't want to see your OWLs, or are you scared, Albie?' He passed it on to his mother before he could look at it, sinking into his chair, an odd feeling of dread passing over him. It vanished when his mother threw her arms around him, pressing a sloppy enthusiastic kiss to his cheek. "Oh Albus! Eight OWLs! Oh, I'm so proud of you!" He eventually pried the paper from her: two As, five Es, and (he felt a surge of smug pride) a well-deserved O in Potions. (Oh, and a P in Divination, but after the palm-reading fiasco he decided the subject was even more useless than he'd thought before and pass or no pass he certainly wasn't going to be taking the NEWT level anyway.)

He stayed cheerful the rest of the summer (which got him a bonus from Uncle George when it seemed as though the store had a bit more business suddenly from teenage girls, and also a wink and a few cheerful, dirty remarks.) Not only that, but he'd be old enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament this year, and since it had taken place at Durmstrang the previous round, the champion prospects would be heading off to Beauxbaton. And wasn't his cousin attending that school? He thought she was about his age, so no doubt he'd see her there. He'd go no matter what anyone said, just to see it. He heard the school was magnificent- not that Hogwarts was anything to balk at, but France was different. He had absolutely no mastery of the language, unfortunately, but he was pretty sure they had spells for that sort of thing. How else could the tournament go on? Strange how he'd never really considered that part before...

He spent the first day of September quite pleasantly anxious, and spent the entire train ride convincing Scorpius to try entering the tournament with him. He barely managed to sit still through the sorting, more or less ignoring the Headmaster's speech, barging into whispered discussions amongst his peers about the tasks. Of course they all knew there was precious little chance of any of them being the slightest bit close to guessing what would happen, but speculation had always been everyone's pastime. The tournament was open to fifth years and above to be sure that no one could complain that they hadn't had their chance- of course, the odds of a fifth year being chosen were minuscule, but to not let them put their names in the cup at all was bound to result in a lot of complaining.

The tournament was honestly only half the fun though, even if the students would have to take classes in the oddest sort of correspondence to make sure they wouldn't fall behind. (Of course, most fifth years and a good deal of seventh years wouldn't leave because of OWLs or NEWTs, but that made things much easier for him.)

Eventually (a week later) he did somehow manage to convince Scorpius to join him, but he had a feeling it probably had more to do with the boy's mother sending him a nice letter about how he should feel free to see the world as soon as possible, and that his father and she were always seconds away should they be needed, and that she was sure Albus would take good care of him if anything happened. Albus thought the whole thing to be awfully melodramatic, and he chuckled at the barely-concealed 'everything might go wrong any second' tone. You'd think the boy was dying or something.

All the better, though. He had a feeling this wouldn't be nearly as fun by himself, and it was a quite cheeky goodbye that he gave to his younger sister and to Rose (who had opted to stay behind) when they boarded the scarlet Hogwarts Express on Saturday the 29th of October, waving to a Hogsmeade station full of older students, shouting out good lucks and joking admonitions. He sat at the very front- what on any other day would have been the Prefect carriage- sometimes sticking his head out in the chilly wiping wind to watch rails and boards whiz out from behind them and settle in place just before the train passed over an area, the track making itself sometimes in thin air as they passed over wide rivers- or the entire English channel. He'd settle back into his seat, laughing and bright-faced, and contemplate the sort of magic that would be required for that. Did it just store itself into their beloved train?

Endless games of Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap later, and a two=dozen group of students succumbed to sleep in the still-moving train that would be their school and lodgings until the tournament would end. Albus came to in the cool, misty light of early morning. They were still moving, though the dark waters had vanished to be replaced with soft-looking grass and darts of small towns in the distance. The tracks twisted to stay away from populated areas, trailing them here past a crumbling ruin and there through a somber, overgrown forest, between trunks far too close for any train that followed the rules of logic. He watched and woke and slept in snatches, dazed.

They arrived finally at dusk and came out to droves of students in thin silver-blue silk crowding about for a good look. He thought fleetingly that it wasn't fair their first appearance would be after a day and a half of travel, but a glance at the nearest Ravenclaw girl showed him his error. Obviously he should've spent that last hour preparing.

He turned his attention away from the welcome party and looked behind them. Beauxbaton was an ancient university where Hogwarts was a castle- large square buildings with gigantic arched doors and thick ivy climbing over several planes. They still had spires and gargoyles, and the look of age without fade. The largest building was in the center. Around it were four other great building, each arranged to face one corner and with a gigantic stained glass window over it's main entranceway. Judging by the formation of students, he guessed that the one with a large Selkie-like creature roomed the female students, while that with a broad-shouldered centaur housed the boys. One had an image of a phoenix, and he could only assume that it housed faculty. As for the last, he was not quite certain of it's use, but he imagined he might discover it later.

They were other smaller buildings in the distance- stables and greenhouses, he imagined. The sound of broad waves and saltwater permeated his senses; they were perched on a high cliff overlooking the ocean, stars reflecting like playful fireflies in the waters far below. He smiled vaguely at the crowd, and wished for food, and sleep, and he'd worry about acknowleging new faces tomorrow at the Halloween Feast (assuming they'd have one).


	18. Strands

During the time they ate, the inside of the scarlet Express had changed from the usual seating sections to each compartment suspiciously resembling their dormitories, though the number of beds for each changed to however many of their year and house had come. Scorpius and Albus were alone- in fact, only one fifth year Slytherin had come at all- one Lantha Nym, a pretty raven-haired girl- and she was quite smug in her own room.

The Gryffindors didn't seem to find the whole thing funny, since a majority of them had opted to come.(Nobody was surprised.)

Albus had a fantastic night of sleep, and marched into breakfast early the next morning in a far more cheery mood, slipping his name into the goblet as he passed to the buffet table at the head of the room before moving to one of the many square tables scattered all about the room, each seating about an octet of students. It was a bit odd not to see the four-houses system he was so used to, but he supposed not every school would've been created the same way as Hogwarts.

He sat with his cousin, Mirabelle Durocher, daughter of Gabrielle Durocher, nee Delacour, and asked about the final building. Evidently, at the school's inception, the male and female students had been separated only for the exception of meals. The large structure had little use now, except as a storage space, and even then the vast majority of it was left empty.

Classes were cancelled that day for two reasons- Halloween happened to fall on a Monday, so it wouldn't interrupt classes too badly, and the Beauxbaton staff were, as always, quite eager to show off their school, so they kicked the students out of the school building to give them time to 'socialize,' even going so far as to have a grand picnic on the vast grounds at noon so that no one would see the decorations in progress.

And decorated it was. Hogwarts was obviously quite impressive at Halloween every year: live bats, floating pumpkins, thousands of candles, ghosts (or course everyone was already used to those) vast arrays of black, white and orange treats all about. Beauxbaton had all of these, and gigantic ancient-looking cobwebs in every corner, and made up for a lack of a stormy malevolent ceiling with a quite peculiar charm that made all of the students seem particularly gaunt, almost monochrome. He was quite amused to see it had absolutely no effect on his eighth-veela cousin, who seemed like a live girl in a hall of ghosts and ghouls, but that made it all the better.

It was too bad, really- the whole thing looked beautiful, but everyone was too busy whispering about the Goblet of Fire quietly smoking just behind the staff table to give it adequate attention. When the candles snuffed themselves out, the light of the glowing pumpkins casting odd shadows, and the quietly smouldering cup suddenly erupted in violent blue, the room fell to deathly quiet. Every eye followed the headmistress as she rose gravely to her feet and stepped to the large vessel, glimmering green eyes rapt.

Albus felt like they had tilted into a pocket of time- like everything was slow and stuttered and hold-your-breath paused. The cup sparkled and spat, and quick, jewelled fingers caught the first paper.

"The Beauxbaton champion is- Armande DuChamp." A tall girl with black hair and blacker eyes stood, gaze smart and sharp under long lashes.

"She's a gypsy," Mirabelle told him under her breath. "Naturals at wandless magic, they are. Never seen her use one- don't know if she even has one." The girl's voice sounded odd. Hollow, almost, distorted. He watched the girl move to stand by the door.

The cup flashed magenta- "The Durmstrang champion- Ylva Skanyja." She was much more menacing- short hair, sharp cheekbones, eyes reminiscent of a winter raven, and a smile full of teeth. He had, however, seen her earlier that day, and she'd seemed quite friendly. They'd had a short conversation, even. Maybe it was the light.

He (and the most the rest of the Hogwarts students) all shifted forward in their seats. They were the only school left, and each of them had an ache to hear their own names. Some of the other Hogwarts students who were really around for the travel more than glory smiled to themselves as they glanced at each other, but turned their attention back to the woman quickly.

"The last champion, from Hogwarts, shall be Scorpius Malfoy." The world quite abruptly went back to normal. Albus turned to grin brightly at the boy, punching him lightly on the shoulder. It would've been nice to be the one, but he could hardly begrudge his best friend the honour. "Way to go, Scorpius. Bona fide champion." Scorpius gazed at him impassively. The blond stood, touching the crown of Albus' head lightly before walking over to the other champions. The three turned to the crowd of faces and bowed before being escorted out by the headmistress of Beauxbaton and the headmasters of Hogwarts and Durmstrang to the sound of every other student's claps and cheers.

Albus settled, though his grin didn't fade, and talked loudly to his cousin and some of the other Slytherins about the champions.

He did not leave the Feasting Hall until quite late- and was vastly surprised, as he approached the train, to find Headmaster Degorri standing just outside of his own compartment, arguing heatedly with Draco Malfoy. (When had the ministry official gotten here? How did he get here? Apparating across the country was quite hard enough, and he was sure Beauxbaton would have some anti-apparation magic set up along with its status as Unplottable.) He edged closer, wishing he had one of the extendible ears he'd been selling all summer.

As it were, he could only catch snatches- angry "You very well know!"s and "I can't believe"s "completely disregarded my"s and "perfectly aware that!"s and "dangerous condition"s (the last which he assumed meant the often dangerous though never deadly tasks, though he felt odd trepidation) from Malfoy Sr. and "of age"s "own choice"s "no one's responsibility"s "grow up"s and "coddling"s from the insulted headmaster.

When he tried to get a bit closer to the conversation in hopes of making things out more clearly, both men turned to him sharply. Draco's mouth snapped closed, and Professor Degorri looked quite relieved to see him, hurrying over. "Still not in bed, Mister Potter? Well, you better get to it, go on then. Lessons begin again tomorrow, that's it. Tell our dear champion good luck for us, I expect he's still awake."

Draco only nodded coldly in the second he made eyecontact with Albus before going back to glaring at the headmaster. He seemed to realize the entire thing as a lost cause, though, so he quietly stalked away towards the Beauxbaton faculty building. Part of the International Flu Network, perhaps, or at least connected to a grate that would be. When he got into his compartment he found that Scorpius was already fast asleep, and by morning was so busy with suddenly trying to run about with new schedules and how exactly to take class watching a looking-glass with the others without getting too distracted that he quite forgot to bring it up to his friend at all.


	19. Stuttered

The first task took place in early December: the first of December, actually, and the precise timing made Albus rather recalcitrant. He'd hoped to make something of the occasion, after all, since he had nothing he could actually give the boy. He supposed he could've asked his parents to send something, but it wasn't really worth the same. So he spent the day pretending to pay attention to his classes while glancing at the space Scorpius would normally occupy while the champions were preparing for their task, sunken with anxious worry. Of course, Scorpius would no doubt do brilliantly and, of course, he would be defended from harm. But.

It was just hard not to worry, that was all. So when every living sentient soul on campus appeared, moving in a vast crowd towards the rowed seats the had been set up looking out towards the edge of the cliff that bordered Beauxbatons to the west, he locked his hands together, pulling his scarf over his face tightly against the cold, and tried to remember if Scorpius could swim. It felt like he couldn't, which was no doubt ridiculous, but it was tying him up in knots.

And so the contestants would be coming out one by one from a makeshift tent to everyone's right, march to the farthest point, and dive into the water. According to the short speech they were all given, the school had been placed here not because it was out of the way but because of the ancient slumbering creature that lay below, and would doubtless cause calamitous ruin were it ever woken without powerful wizards nearby to keep it pacified: a Leviathan, God of the Seas.

And the champions were supposed to wander into its lair, a place thick with the old and wild magic it would excrete, distorting reality about it so much that, should a non-magical creature attempt approaching it, it would lose all sanity. And pluck one of its scales. And somehow get back up.

He really hated how those presenting the task always had to make everything so dramatic! He sank into his seat and felt small relief when Mirabelle looped his arm with her own, holding his hand tightly with dainty, gloved fingers. "Your friend will be fine," she told him in a thick accent, and smiled like an angel. His own smile was weak, nervous, and tinged a little green. The Durmstrang girl went first, and he shut his eyes, listening only to the crowd's reactions. Watching would do nothing anyway- what could they see, sitting high above the waters looking out into the sky?

Cheers rose high in the air a good half-hour later and he cracked an eye open just in time to see a boy in blood-red robes rush to the girl with a thick and fluffy towel and a mug of something steaming, wrapping her tightly and bringing her over to a crowd of beaming students. He didn't see a scale anywhere, but perhaps she had already passed it on. He didn't care much; Scorpius was walking towards them, staring at the clear, white sky as he moved. His expression was one of daydreaming, but it didn't relax Albus any. It either meant he was unworried, or that he was thinking hard, and the second was badbadbad. (Not that it was, but Albus didn't realize he was this likely to panic.)

Scorpius vanished, and Albus waited tensed and baited until he heard the splash of the boy hitting the water's surface before leaning heavily against his cousin, eyes fixed on the cliff's edge. Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty- then more. They waited over an hour before the Malfoy appeared again, drenched to the bones and somehow completely composed, holding onto a strange concave disc that shifted between smoky black, sombre green and tenebrous cobalt in varying light (or outright on its own, he couldn't quite tell), a good seventy centimetres in diameter. He actually wasn't absolutely sure how Scorpius had managed to move very well underwater while carrying that and his wand. Headmaster Degorri rushed forward to take the large scale, waving his wand for an offhand drying charm and giving Scorpius his own mug of hot drink, shaking his hand vigorously. "You did quite well, my boy! Quite well!"

Scorpius more or less ignored the man and went to sit on Albus' other side, putting on a thick coat Mirabelle (not Albus) had the forethought to bring for him. Albus took hold of Scorpius' wrist and refused to let go, even as the gypsy finished her own trial and points were awarded. (forty-seven out of fifty for Armande, who had finished in just under three-quarters of an hour, thirty-nine for Scorpius, and a mere twenty-four for Ylva, whom he discovered had not actually returned with a scale at all). The white skin was cold, and he himself felt rather pale. "Happy birthday," he muttered later, feeling guilty as he noticed the imprint his silver ring had left on the boy's wrist. Scorpius only offered him some of his mother's crème de menthe and went to sleep.

Of course, the Yule Ball followed later that month. He attended with Mirabelle, while Scorpius was escorted by Lantha Nym, the first girl to ask. (She'd more or less cornered Scorpius back in November, which Albus had found annoying since she was blocking the way into their compartment.) They switched partners halfway, because Nym seemed to be trying to push Scorpius into doing something and he was more than happy to have his family get along with his best friend. Mirabelle and Scorpius were a nice couple anyway- the Malfoy and the Veela were like a pair of willows, moving all grace and smoothness, pale faces and pale hair drifting around lightly-dressed forms. Mirabelle looked quite as good in periwinkle as Scorpius looked in white, and they were all the better for it. He smiled and ignored the Slytherin girl when she purposefully crushed his toes, and then left her as soon as humanly possible when the traditional waltzing was switched out for edgier rock. Mirabelle had vanished back into the swarm of bodies, and Scorpius looked rather ambivalent to the entire thing. Personally Albus wasn't much of a fan of hot, bouncing, crushing crowds, and he vastly doubted Scorpius felt fondly about them either. "Shall we make it an early night?" He asked after a third taste of dessert. Scorpius merely stood, but no answer could've been more obvious.

He hadn't really gotten him anything for Christmas, either.


	20. Soaring

Albus' behavior was far less ornery about the second task- it would be in plain sight this time, something that filled him with relief. Honestly he was still seething about the first task- the dangers of screwing up the spell that kept someone breathing, the chance of someone passing out at that depth, what if the leviathan woke...? He was sure there were safeguards, had been informed of such, but he didn't know what they were and they didn't make him feel any better. But being able to watch and ensure that nothing bad happened was a load off.

Nobody really knew much about it. On the beginning of classes in early January, each champion had been furnished with a map of sorts and a scroll. He didn't know any clear details, since Scorpius refused to show it to him, but he'd peered over his homework to watch the young man pouring over it often enough that he knew it must have several riddles.

He gathered from vague rumors and the occasional words from Scorpius that they had to get a certain object that would open up the last task to them, and that it would require several pieces to make itself. Or. Something. The Beauxbaton students, friendly as they were, knew that he was the closest to Scorpius and therefore wouldn't tell him anything in case he was trying to 'spy for the other side'; the Durmstrang students were as closed as always.

Time dragged and sped in odd pockets. He was quite surprised to discover Valentine's chocolates from his sister on a cold day in February, checking his calendar in surprise. No, it really was halfway through the month already.

The task began at three in the afternoon on the 28th of February. The crowds were seated in four different areas of the school grounds; the first in the elaborate gardens, matching those of Versailles of old hedge for hedge, the second in the largest of a network of caves close to the water's edge, the third cloaked above the nearest Muggle town, and the last in a meadow, forest on all sides. Older students could apparate from one area to the other with the judges, but as most were not of age, they were to chose their seats wisely. Albus sat in the fourth area, preferring to watch the end, while Mirabelle drifted away to the village, as they were very rarely allowed near it, and only in small, chaperoned groups to visit its tiny wizarding market.

Fifteen minutes later, antsy and frustrated, he leaned over to a boy he had seen with the gypsy. A treasure hunt, it seemed- one had to find the appropriate statue in the wide gardens, and then the proper spell to open its pedestal. Inside the base, there would be a portkey, which would transport the champion to the caves, and the next in a wizarding shack within the muggle village, and last to the forest to receive the final object.

A Durmstrang student leaned over to convene with the Beauxbatons boy, and they agreed finally, before Albus who seemed to be the only one in the dark, that each champion had their own statue/cave/wizard to find, and if they were ever to use the wrong portkey it would determine that they found it by chance rather than by using the clues given, and therefore lose all points for that round. The final object would be the key to the last task, but as they had no idea what the last task was, they could not guess at it, although it would have to be of small size as not to give away its location.

Albus listened, flustered and annoyed at seemingly being the only one who knew nothing of the task. Nym, who was sitting beside him, grimaced, exchanging looks. It seemed all of Hogwarts had been kept in the dark.

He sighed, sank in his seat, and shared a bag of the girl's Bertie Botts with her while they waited. Scorpius was first to appear, three quarters of an hour later, squarely before the audience. He ignored them completely, pale eyes searching along the canopy. He flicked his wands towards the tree tops; nothing happened, and he glanced at it, uttering a simple spell- wingardium leviosa, if Albus could recognize the usual 'swish and flick' from this distance- directed at a leaf nearby. When still nothing happened, Scorpius stowed his wand into his sleeve.

Then he seemed to move. Albus could not determine quite how he was moving, as Scorpius never did anything without purpose 'fidgeting' would seem impossible. But then he began to shrink, faster and faster, until there was nothing but an owl in his place, pure white but for a single streak of grey on it's tail, far whiter even then the female of the species Scorpius used for his letters, and a good few centimeters smaller. He first felt a flush of jealousy- his own transformation was not quite complete, and took him several minutes sometimes, and very hard concentration- but it was quickly overwhelmed by the flush of pride. Scorpius was really amazing.

His mouth split into a wide and toothy grin when the crowd above him erupted in murmurs, and the judge nearby looked on with wide eyes, surprise slackening his jaw. The great bird vanished between the trees.

Seconds later, DuChamp came tearing through the area on the back of one of the school's gigantic pegasi, sailing just above their heads and crashing her way through the wood on their other side.

Last came Skanyja, only minutes behind. Albus assumed the scores would all be about the same, unless portkeys were switched. He doubted that outcome, since it would've seriously delayed the proper owner of said portkey.

He was pulled out of thought by a wave of whispers, and glanced at the field to find that, without any actual change, Ylva Skanyja seemed to feel darker, and larger, as though her shadow were growing exponentially, hair flowing back as though from a sudden wind; without warning the shadows drew back into her, and she was flying, without broomstick or wings. The audience all fell back in a chill silence as she vanished into the forest- and then exploded into cheers and clapping. The judges stayed silent, white in shock.

She was awarded all fifty points, the first perfect score anyone could remember being awarded since the Triwizard Tournament had begun again. (Scorpius arrived at 46; becoming an animagus at such a young age was impressive, and may had scored higher had the Durmstrang champion not been able to execute such a rare, complex spell of such high difficulty. The Beauxbaton girl received 37, for speed in the first three stages and efficiency in the last, losing in the difficulty of execution that had scored the others such high marks. The current score, then, was third place at 74 for Ylva Skanyja, who had failed the objective of the first task but recovered quite well, second for Armande DuChamp at 84, and a close first for Scorpius at 85.)

All three landed before the stands close together, each clutching a silver key (Scorpius' in his beak), Armande covered in brambles but laughing.

The owl began to grow back into Scorpius. At first Albus only watched out of interest, but he began to lean forward, apprehension tightening his chest, when he realized the transformation was slowing at every stage. When the last white feather finally retreated into Scorpius' skin, sweat glistening on the boy's brow, Albus could only watch and try to crash his way through the crowd of bodies as, in near slow-motion in his mind, unable to reach his friend, Scorpius' knees shook and gave out from beneath him.

Ylva spun and caught him, and the boy was obscured from Albus' vision by all five judges moving to the two champions swiftly.


	21. Strain

Albus hovered outside the infirmary until they let him in and stayed all night, arguing with the nurse until she let him sleep in a spare, glaring all the while. He spent his free time there, same as he had before, his chin resting on crossed arms. "How did this happen again?" he sighed, staring vaguely at a spot near his nose. He missed the shadow that crossed Scorpius' face as they waited for the Malfoys to appear. They waited in silence until then, Scorpius' gaze fixed on his white, trembling hands. Albus left quietly when the adults appeared, nodding back at his friend' father and smiling shakily at his mother as he moved past them.

"Have you told him yet, dearest?" He heard Astoria Malfoy say as she seated herself at the edge of Scorpius' bed.

Albus faltered in the doorway, turning his head to look back at the family- Scorpius was looking back up at the slight woman with naked fear, and she whispered something soft, stroking her son's forehead. He sighed and pushed his way out, tugging his cloak close around him as he took the stairs three at a time. Tell who what?

Albus dropped into his chair with a groan, slouching as he piled books on Scorpius' bedside. "Brought you your homework," he grumbled, wishing strongly that he knew some sort of spell that could teach him all this information in his sleep. Of course, there probably was one, and he probably needed to know all of this twisted theory and Latin and complicated charms skill to make it work in the first place. Unfair.

He paused when he noticed Scorpius looking at the books instead of at him. He blinked and straightened up slowly, nibbling his lower lip nervously. He didn't know what that look (or lack thereof) meant, but he'd never seen Scorpius afraid of anything. Silence stretched on and Albus felt his anxiety growing, knuckles white as he gripped his fingers together in his lap. "Scorpius?"

The thin boy shifted finally, loosing a page from beneath the books he had been brought and holding it out to Albus. The younger Slytherin took it, eyes fixed on his friend, before glancing through it. He shrugged to himself and made to hand it back before some of the words sank into his mind.

He held it closer to his face, hands shaking minutely as he read it again, eyes wide. "What-?" There were words he didn't understand, things that he'd heard Aunt Hermione mention before, to her mother- and then things he didn't need help to understand, words like 'disease,' even if he had no idea what 'auto-immune' was supposed to mean. Thing like 'magic eating its way out.' Things that suggested Scorpius was already lucky to have made it this far.

He found himself suddenly lacking his breath, gaping as he looked back at Scorpius, voice weak. "What is this?"

Scorpius looked up at him finally- slowly, gaze clouded and stormy, protected.

He slumped forward against his knees, certain he would've dropped to the ground hadn't he already been sitting. "Scorpius, tell me. Something!"

The pale boy took a long, slow breath in, and Albus felt his pulse flutter in his throat in the silence. When he looked up Scorpius was staring at the constellation sphere Albus had received from Percy and Oliver on his fifteenth birthday. "Every gift comes with a price," he said finally, and Albus felt a cold chill sweep through him.

"What did you say?" he asked, hard and without inflection, staring disbelievingly.

Scorpius turned his pale gaze to green eyes, shoulders drawn in.

His fingers twitched and tightened, jaw clenched. "You're paying for this 'look into the sky and see someone else's future' bullocks by dying? Is that what you're telling me?" He leaned forward, eyes narrowed over his glasses. "And your parents? What the hell are they paying for, huh? Is having you for however little years you live supposed to be the return for burying you?"

He hissed and spit and seethed, and pretended he didn't notice when every shutter fell between them. "And what about me? You didn't think I deserved to know? You couldn't have mentioned this the first time you were bedridden for months? Every damn day I was next to you, I didn't deserve to know that you could die at any moment?"

He was half-surprised with himself, surprised he wasn't choking on his words, but anger was easier than hurt and it spurned him on. His nails bit into his palm, laugh low and jagged in his throat when Scorpius didn't answer, didn't say anything at all, his eyes unfocused near Albus' left shoulder.

His next words were quiet but poisoned, bitter as he leaned forward, forcing the other boy to meet his gaze. "And what am I paying for, Scorpius Antares Malfoy?"

He waited, still and stone cold, waited silently until the sick Slytherin shut his eyes, sinking back away from him.

"I'm leaving!" he shouted, knocking his chair back as he stood. "Unless you have something else to say?" He sneered, sharp and mean. Scorpius looked up at him, eyes blue and turbulent, his lips parted- poised to speak, but he said nothing.

Scorpius never knew how to say things, especially not when it was personal. Albus had never seen that fact hurt the blonde before, and knowing he had put that pain there made it worse. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at the sick boy, flashed as he spun and stormed out of the room. The door shook on its hinges when he slammed it. His ears rang. He ran. And ran and ran and ran.

The thunder crackled above him, the teeming waves far below him flashing silver. They crashed against the cliff, and he imagined he could feel the earth vibrating through his legs. Now at the edge, nowhere farther to run, wind lashing the rain against his face, he didn't know what to do, where to go. He screamed instead, dropping to his knees, tearing at the dirt with blunt fingers, throwing clumps of grass and roots into the darkness. He screamed, swearing until he couldn't think of anything to say, and then wordlessly; screamed until he couldn't. He collapsed into the mud, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms, feeling rage and pain (and fear, so much fear for the future) trill through him as he consciously regulated his breathing.

He stayed there, dirty and cold, shivering but breathing, until the throb of emotions ebbed away into a shell of cold anger. Gritting his teeth he stood up again, ignoring his trembling, the screaming in his head. Albus mechanically twisted his silver ring off his thumb, reflective eyes staring blankly at the little scorpion sitting prone in his palm. He snarled suddenly and closed his fist tightly around in, reeling his hand back to throw it into the ocean- just before letting go, he froze, something flickering behind his eyes as a flash of lighting outlined the stark, white band of pale skin on his otherwise tanned finger.

Albus sucked a breath in, feeling suddenly winded, and stumbled back, shock slackening his face. Jamming the ring back onto his finger with something like shame, he fell back to sit in the mud, staring into space as he let the freezing rain wash over him.

He pushed himself up hours later, stumbling back to the train. He barely managed to strip himself of his heavy, water-logged cloak, pulling his comforter down on the ground to sleep, cocooned in wet clothes. Morning came eventually, though he wasn't sure he'd managed to sleep more than a handful of minutes. He practically fell down to breakfast, cheeks too red against otherwise sickly-pale skin.

Albus speared his spinach omelet, his nose twitching as he squinted down at it. Mirabelle looked sideways at him, dainty fingers resting on his knee for a second. "Perhaps you should head to the infirmary. Madame Pamplire would be happy to give you a fire tonic."

"Nah," he grumbled, wiping his nose, thinking of the lively scarab he had shoved into a sock and pushed into the bottom of his trunk. "I probably deserve it."

Despite his apparent repentance, Albus did not visit Scorpius again, not for some time. He stewed in his anger for several weeks, stomping around the hallways, throwing things around in their room with no regards to whose space he was trashing. Scorpius' belongings had all been pushed into his trunk haphazardly and shoved under his bed- which was now being used as storage for Albus' clothes. He spent most of his time sleeping, covers tugged over his head, or pretending he was sleeping. He stopped sending owls to his family, though their frequency back to him increased after a month of silence. Mirabelle would sometimes burst into his quarters and force him out to eat, but that often ended in a snappy and rude Albus getting in fights with Mirabelle's friends, boys he'd stomp into, the boyfriends of girls he'd scream at- at least he never hit anyone first, and avoided hitting girls after they (deservedly) slapped him.

After a loud and vicious fight with his cousin, he became more sullen. She brought him a tray of dinner that night even while glaring at him. He stared at her after she stomped out (loudly), stared down at the food, and came to a slow realization.

He visited Scorpius the next day, though only for a short period, studying by his friend's bedside. He didn't say anything and Scorpius didn't say anything back, though the sick young man watched him the whole time. Albus wasn't sure what Scorpius' expression meant, and that probably made him feel guiltier than anything else.

After that, his visits were frequent but very short. He dug the chess board out and brought it to Scorpius' bedside, one move in. He would come, a few times a day, inspect the board, and move a single piece, then leave again.

On the morning of the third trial, an uncertain group of students gathered in the dining hall, glancing furtively at each other. The heads of school informed them that it had been moved to the weekend before finals, and that if the Hogwarts Champion was still sick by that Wednesday, the young man would be able to chose a second, since the goblet would regrettably not work for another three years.

Albus caught several Gryffindors looking at him with baleful looks and sneered back at them. Damn all of them, he thought violently. What made them think he seriously wanted to take over that role? And why should Scorpius pick him anyway? He was hardly deserving.

Albus felt cold at the thought. He skipped breakfast and took the steps to the infirmary wing two at the time, sprinting down the halls. He paused right before entering, straightening his uniform before pushing the door open. Scorpius watched him walk in- same as always- and said nothing. Albus paused, gaze fixed on the chessboard. He was wining. In one sweep he knocked it off the table, his jaw clenched. Scorpius glanced at the scattered pieces, calm and empty. Albus dropped into the chair beside him, gripped Scorpius' marble hand, and pressed his forehead against it. He sat there without moving, feeling warmth ebb ever-so-slowly into the other boy. After a long moment he felt a second hand press against his closed fists. The cold washed all the way through him, and he started to shiver- then he started to shake in earnest. He was surprised when he started to cry, struggling to stay silent even as he sobbed, pressing his cheek against the bed-sheets by Scorpius' knee. After long hours he started to slow down, hiccupping to a stop. He looked up when he felt a cool hand more to the back of his neck, eyes round and vaguely embarrassed as he stared at the soft Scorpius.

He cleared his throat and looked around, cheeks flushed and eyes puffy as he gathered the chess pieces, setting the board back up for a new game. He fumbled with the pieces, nervous and guilty, and glanced up at the other boy. "So. Err. How're you doing?"

Scorpius smiled in that way he did (corners of his mouth barely lifted, head cocked so-slightly to the side, eyes clear), relief clear in the way the lines around his mouth faded for the first time in Albus' sight since he had fallen ill. Albus let out a breath of air, squeezed the boy's hand, and launched into a treatise of events- the way he'd fucked up with Mirabelle, with his family, the classes Scorpius had missed, about the two Gryffindors that used to shout slurs at Scorpius that he'd beat fair and square (and bloody, although by fair he meant Lym had helped him, and that girl was small but vicious), without considering that the sick Slytherin had been nearby when the boys were treated. Scorpius listened patiently, watchful, and Albus fancied his color (what little he had) was returning.

When he finished he slumped back into his chair, warm and exhausted. "Wow," he breathed, running shaky fingers through his hair, looking like he'd just realized something about himself.

Scorpius' mouth lifted, and he sank back against his pillow to sleep.


	22. Sidequest: Sweaters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes Place during 5th year

Draco Malfoy paused over his pâté de foi gras when his eyes fell on his son, lifting his head slowly as the boy sat across from him, spreading the gelatinous paste over a piece of still-warm bread.

"Scorpius," he started, a little vaguely, feeling like his head was floating somewhere above him. The boy, a well-mannered Malfoy always despite his many oddities, put the knife and bread down and placed his hands in his lap, looking up at his father. "That thing you're wearing-" he probably intended to keep going but only stared at it. It was acid green; combined with Scorpius' coloring, it made the boy look sick, ghastly, and that look on his only son made Draco absolutely sick with worry, but he refrained from showing it because it was Christmas morning and the clothing could only mean one thing. Draco made a strange little sound in the back of his throat and looked to his wife for help, but she was only watching Scorpius, her neat eyebrows surprised little arches.

"A jumper, father."

He blinked, looking back up from the 'SAM' emblazoned above the boy's right breast in fine silver scroll to meet Scorpius' cool gaze. Draco gathered himself, smiling indulgently, if somewhat surprised still. "Yes, of course. From the Weasley matriarch, no doubt?"

Scorpius didn't answer, long fingers returning to his toast. Draco nodded to himself and, flicking his silver pocket-watch open with his thumb, drank his tea.

Molly Weasley watched half in horror but mostly with great love and pride as Weasley after Weasley bustled about, moving through the kitchen and the living room to upstairs to the basement to run, screaming, around the backyard, tracking mud over the floor going to the broom cupboard, to steal cookies. She even had to shoo out Hugo when he tried to peek into his stocking by 'cleverly' disguising himself by stealing some of the ornaments and hanging them on his fingers, covered in pine needles.

When Albus settled in front of her for more than a moment, she paused, smiling down and offering treacle fudge. Albus told her, when he was twelve, that hugs were great for hellos, goodbyes, and thank yous, but that more than that would be silly, unless something really wicked had happened, or something really terrible.

So when he broke out in a beaming smile that reminded her, with a leaping heart, far too much of an eleven-year-old Harry Potter, and wrapped his lengthened arms around her, squeezing her middle- and stayed there for a good, long moment before running off after James, trying to hurl things at him for being called a sissy, she almost cracked her cheeks grinning, whipped her eyes, and reminded herself to buy more yarn for next year.


	23. Surrealism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final leg of the Triwizard Tournament is upon us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to those of you that have kept this story on watch... even though it hasn't been updated in- what, four years? This is one of the only stories I'm still proud of, and even if you haven't said anything about it, knowing that someone still wants to see where it will end... has given me hope. Thank you.

Scorpius began to regain colour as April advanced into May. Too much time spent in Divination led Albus to joke extensively about the renewal of life, at least until he caught Scorpius frowning at him once. He was 90 percent sure it meant the same thing, anyway: Scorpius had fixed him with an unwavering gaze, his mouth pressed in a line, before turning his eyes to high heavens and letting himself sink don the headboard until he was horizontal once more.

As much as Albus would like to say that Scorpius was improving the weather, the fact was that whatever lost bit of the French coast Beauxbatons had been built upon did not improve with spring, but rather reminded him mightily of home. wind lashed against the stony cliffs, the foam of high waves bleaching the rocks. It was humid when it didn't outright rain, and more often than not he found himself running between the Scarlet Express and the main hall for meals in one of his grandmother's sweaters, his hair matted down and dripping cold down his neck as his hands scrubbed away gooseflesh vigorously.

Scorpius rejoined the other six years for classes at the end of May. Albus was extremely embarrassed, on that first day, to discover that Scorpius had not been keeping up with his classes thanks to the headmaster at all, but because a Hufflepuff he barely knew had been bringing him classwork and notes, as Albus had done in fourth year. He'd never seen her- ostensibly that as because she as an early riser, and Albus had the habit of tarrying in the breakfast hall as long as possible before trudging back to the train for classes, preferring to visit Scorpius in the afternoon.

Of course, Scorpius had never said anything, nor did he seem to have any particular rapport with the Hufflepuff in question, though a little asking around illuminated at least the basics for him. Her name was Gwyneth Jones, she had Arithmancy with Scorpius last year, and she had now been sending him Valentines gifts for the second year running. She also sat on Scorpius' other side on the first week of the boy's return. If asked (and Albus did, in a way, with a long look and a raised eyebrow) she said that it was so that she could fill in any information she may have failed to transmit beforehand. Albus seriously doubted that, considering she blushed for a solid hour during their first lesson. The weather finally lightened up in June, giving way to such sunshine and breezy heat Albus almost missed the whip of spring wind. Though Scorpius moved slowly on some days and frequently went to bed immediately after dinner, he generally seemed to have recovered, and so when finals rolled around at the end of the month, he was ready to finish the last task.

The Beauxbatons staff knew what it was doing. The end of the Triwizard Tournament, coinciding with the end of finals and the beginning of summer holidays, was cause for celebration, and they made it so. The final task would take place in the disused building that had once been the Girls' Education Hall. The key that each Champion had found at the end of the second task would open the service door for them, a little side entrance reached by delightful cobblestone steps.

The rest of the students, therefore, had nothing much to do except try to see if anything went on in the windows or watch the front doors, so the faculty and staff had set up a great picnic. Blankets big enough to sit twenty spread all around the lawn. Charms to ward away insects made the edges of them fizzle colorfully. wicker baskets the size of small plates sat in the center of each blanket, and Albus discovered to his great joy that all you had to do was ask nicely for an item on the menu pinned to the basket-top before opening it up and it would produce a meal from seemingly nowhere. (A young first-year student couldn't seem to get enough of the basket, and would order for everyone that approached her basket herself, in awe every time. "She is muggleborn, I think" Mirabelle explained with a dainty smile. Albus envied her a little. She sure was having fun.)

Despite the sprawl and gaiety of the picnic, it only took a single voice-augmented command to reduce the entirety of the Beauxbatons student body and their guests to drop to the merest whispers, teenage eyes turning to face the headmistress smiling at them from the arched doors of the empty building.

"welcome," she waved an arm, a shower of pale blue sparks dripping liberally from her wand, to "the Triwizard Tournament's end. Our lovely champions are ready for their final task. They will enter one by one," she told everyone in a hushed, private tone, magnified into a boom, the sparks rising as if blown by a wind to loop around the three champions. "who shall be the first one to emerge? will it be-" Albus tuned out of her speech, less interested in the grandiose introductions that had pockets of students at a time screaming for their friends. Instead his eyes fixed on Scorpius, a sudden anxiety filling his chest. He remembered, abruptly, the conversation he had overheard between his own headmaster and Draco Malfoy, all those months ago, and a resonant anger struck him hard in the face. Scorpius had nearly died in the second task, what the hell were they thinking, letting him go again?

Scorpius had his hands behind his back, still, waiting for the introductions to end. He would enter first, having the highest score if only by the slimmest margin. He had spent most of the time staring at the sky, perhaps trying to diving something in the cloudlessness of it, looking past it perhaps to the waning moon. His gaze shifted and locked with Albus's watchful eyes.

The young Potter began to stand before he even intended to move, wanting to fetch Scorpius, bring him to the blanket and sit him right between himself and Mirabelle, but a delicate hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to look at its owner, to argue, but his cousin only smiled, her eyebrows raised, and yanked him hard until he was sitting again.

He turned forward again but Scorpius was no longer looking at him. He was already moving for the door. He slid the delicate-looking thing into the keyhole- for a moment nothing happened, the audience collectively holding its breath- but then it swung open into a dark hallway, and inexplicably a cheer rose up among the students.

The whole thing turned out to feel mostly anticlimactic for the audience. After ten minutes, all three champions had entered the building, and there was again nothing to see. (Nothing that Albus knew about, anyway. If he had been paying more attention instead of sulking, he may have noticed that there was, at all times, a cluster of students near the judges' table. They were looking at an open-roofed miniature of the building, where you could follow the progress of the champions in form of little moving school crests, emitting little labels whenever a spell was cast by the champion's wands.)

Albus did not quite recover his good nature. Anxiety rooted itself deep in his ribcage, spreading up along his arms and coiling in his gut. He was filled with an incessant nervous energy, the need to leap to his feet and run into the building after Scorpius projecting itself in the tortured twists of his hair after he ran his fingers through them too many times, spilled drinks because he kept tapping his foot or squirming. Nym and Mirabelle, at some point having become fast friends (Albus didn't even want to know, never asked, but actually Mirabelle had expressed some strong gratitude to Nym for looking out for Albus when she had been too furious with him to do it properly herself, and Nym had a quiet but so-distracting crush on the French girl) attempted to distract him with exploding snap, wizard's chess, and a game that involved dice he was far too irritated to learn, to little avail. He played chess aggressively, snap angrily, and threw himself down on the blanket to stare at the sun when they continued on with dice.

Mirabelle took his hand, squeezing it gently at first before merely holding it, her thumb stroking soothingly over the back of his hand. He curled up on his side towards her, their hands in the cavity of his loose coil, knees brushing against her thigh. An hour passed. Maybe two.

For no particular reason he could understand, unaware of the miniature display as he was, his blanket suddenly found himself with several more occupants, chatting loudly and excitedly as they all faced the building's front door. He sat up, clustering close to Mirabelle and leaning away from whatever stranger was now sitting far too close beside him. She squeezed his hand, casting an affectionate smile towards him, and winked. His returning smile was lacklustre, half-hearted. He set his head on her shoulder; she laughed musically, patting his knee with their linked hands. "Your friend is fine," she reassured him with a kiss to the crown of his head. "we'll see..."

It didn't take long, after that. The double doors flew open of their own accord, curving in and allowing the crowd to see into the building. It reminded Albus immediately of the hall of distorting mirrors at the fair. The entrance hall's walls seemed to be pulsing. what he imagined were normally a perfectly well-behaved pair of spiral staircases against the far wall, similar to the ones in Beauxbatons's main hall, were currently twining around each other like a pair of amorous snakes, stone grinding against stone, stairs flattening against each other until one coil was more slide than anything before coming back up. Door flapped in an invisible wind. Albus felt dizzy just looking into the place. A third year a few ways down groaned and covered his face. Seventh-years on his other side were crowing about how fun such a place must be to navigate drunk, laughing raucously. Albus coiled his free hand around the one tangled with his cousin's, pressing the scorpion ring hard into the flesh of his thumb to ground himself.

There. It was hard, at first, to be sure that what he had seen was a person. They appeared in the far left corner in a slant of shadows, but with everything moving and the corridors tailing off into an impossible twist, it might've been anything. A rush of voices whispering to each other echoed his thoughts.

Yes, probably a person, moving slowly. Albus jolted up in his seat, eyes round and wide, willing his eyes to understand. was it Scorpius? was he hurt? was that why the movements seems so slow, so stilted?

A second shape appeared, rushing past the first, but before they could make it into the sunlight, a green light flashed out of the other's wand and wrapped around the second figure's legs. They fell forward, hard, catching themselves on their hands and hissing. It was Armande, the Beauxbatons champion, her dark hair falling away from her face as she rolled onto her back, struggling to detangle herself from the magical lasso. She backhanded the air, and Ylva- he could just make her out, now-'s wand flew out of her hands and smacked into the wall.

"I told you she was a gypsy!" someone told one of the Gryffindors sitting behind Albus excitedly. He could feel the way they had bounced in excitement.

Yvla inched towards her wand. She had clearly been slowed, and the determination on her face was at once wild with fury and with joy. Armande broke her legs free from Yvla's spell. She jumped to her feet with a whoop and ran for the door. Students jumped to their feet with her, jumped closer.

Yvla grabbed her wand in a sudden burst of speed, the slowing spell finally worn down. She jutted her wand forward and pulled it back in a great arc. A golden coil wrapped around Armande's ankle just as her fingers brushed the door's handle. She was yanked backwards, dragged along the floor back towards a panting Yvla. Yvla laughed wildly, shouting at the other champion, "my family has cattle, you know!"

"Are you calling me a cow?" Armande called back in her liltling voice. The students were practically screaming, shouting each for their favorite as the girls fought to reach the door first, arcs of magic slicing between them.

Just as Yvla climbed over Armande, the gypsy laughing wildly as she wrapped her arms around one of the other girl's legs, both of them tumbling through the door, a pale shape suddenly dropped just in front of them. Everyone hushed suddenly, unsure of what they were seeing, but then the shape straightened out into a tall, willowy boy with pale eyes.

The scream that went up was deafening.

Albus leapt to his feet. He threw himself forward, despite the throng of people doing the same, and with some strength beyond his own he fought his way through it to Scorpius, throwing his arms around the boy in a way he had never dared, squeezing his best friend to him, laughing into his shoulder.

"Oh my god, Scorpius!"

The clamor around them was incredible. The teachers weren't even trying for order. The other two champions had, at some point, been hoisted up on people's shoulders. The crowd was one- Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang indistinguishable. Everyone was screaming, laughing, pressing in.

Albus shook his head, the white cotton of Scorpius's uniform rubbing against his cheek. "Oh my god did you just drop from the roof what happened? Scorpius you are amazing."

The boy was warm under his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally intended for Scorpius to win, but it feels more like a tie, don't you think?


End file.
